Addiction: The Sequel
by love97
Summary: Old habits die hard.
1. Prologue

I don't do perfection. Perfection is boring. It is unlike me to have anything be perfect.

You know those happy couples? With the boy courting the girl about town, and their smiles are pleasant and not a hair is out of place? And the boy brings her flowers and the girl romanticizes about their wedding and having the perfect family? I can't do that. The portraits of charm and the lovely home and the children…oozing with fuzzy love and monotonous living.

How frightening!

Give me the sinners any day of the week. The drinkers, the smokers, the ones who stay up for days and lose track of how much money they've gambled away. Give me the fuck-ups, the guilty, and the indulgent.

I make mistakes. I give in too easily. I keep secrets. I'm not perfect – I will not feel guilty for this. I'm not perfect and I won't try to be. I cannot fit the family portrait mold, and I certainly don't want to. I might be crazy for refusing that happiness…but it's far more exciting. Give me the rule-breakers. Give me the fornicators, the night owls, and the lecherous. Give me their madness.

Give me the addiction.

* * *

A/N: Well hello! What have we here? Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. The situations you get yourself into haha If you've read _Addiction_, welcome back. If not, you might want to skim over the first one so you dont feel lost in the upcoming chapters. Or if you still want to read the story but dont have time for the other one, PM me and I'll give you the run-down. The other one IS about 30 chapters or so. Anyway, I was at first against writing a sequel to _Addiction_, however, I simply couldnt help myself. It makes life super exciting when I write this stuff haha so I'm DYING to hear (read?) your thoughts on this. Good? Bad? Terrible? Bad idea? Want more? You gotta let me know!


	2. Dreaming

2

Every once in a while…Lucy caught the old, familiar scent. It was a distinct scent that usually hit her at the most inopportune times. Sewing up a lose stitch at work, working her way through the crowded streets, running a comb through her hair – it was longer now. Her hair dipped just below her shoulders. It threw her off-balance, though, this scent. Knocked her off her feet sometimes.

When it would dissipate she would merely shake her head and let everything simmer back to normal. She blocked any thought from getting too big, and she concentrated on whatever it was that she was doing. It was all she could do to slide down that slope again; there was no room in her life to visit ghosts of her past.

So she went back to work, or headed down the market, or walked away from the mirror whenever those moments happened, those physical sensations that had a surging potential of opening a floodgate of emotion. She had gotten quite good at it too. Partly because she got used to them popping up every now and then; partly because she was strong, she convinced herself. What didn't kill her – and surely she thought it would have at the time – made her the strongest she had been in quite a long time. _Take that, ya stupid newsboy_, she would think. _I'm still here._ Then she smiled and the world was right again. She won.

But oh, that scent. That intoxicating scent he had. So many memories. So many images that danced endlessly in her mind, whether she was aware of them or not. She could still remember breathing him in, she could still feel his lips against her skin, and his eyes burning into hers. She could see him so clearly, so much so that if only she reached out her hand they would touch.

She could hear his voice. _I can still feel you too…_

She saw him then standing in front of her, and before he got too close she raised her arm and slung it forward with strength.

"Ow!" David jumped.

Lucy felt her heart beat fast and she opened her eyes, startled. Bleary, she sat up and felt the stitching of her quilt on her bed and the warmth of David's body next to hers. The room – her single, cramped apartment – was alight in a dim, warm, orange glow from the candles on her desk and nightstand. She turned and looked at David who was rubbing his nose.

"Sorry!" rushed Lucy. She cringed and shoved tangles of her chestnut-colored hair from her face.

David let out an easy laugh. "It's okay. You're really energetic when you sleep."

Lucy looked down. It wasn't like she didn't already know that – it wasn't exactly the first time she had dreamt something similar to what was running through her mind merely moments ago. She sighed tiredly and adjusted herself so that she rested her head on David's chest in the way she had before she had drifted off to sleep. David let his arm fall across her shoulders as his eyes flew around the page of the book he held out before him.

"What time is it?" asked Lucy.

"A little after nine." His voice was monotone and tired. He had been with her in her apartment for the better part of the evening, after Lucy had finished work and after they had had dinner. "You fell asleep about an hour ago. I've gotten a lot of reading done since then."

Lucy hit his arm. "How boring for you, you should've woken me up."

"Yeah, that's true, I guess. I can't imagine how exciting—" he turned to the book cover—"_Modern Mathematical Theory_ can be, though." He grimaced—sometimes he didn't understand why he was still slaving away through school anymore.

"I'm gettin' a headache just thinkin' about it," said Lucy dryly. She felt a quiet chuckle from inside his chest rumble and disappear.  
"It's okay. I've got a test in a few days so I've needed to study. It's a good thing that you like to sleep a lot, I guess. It's good for my grades."

"So you find—" she grabbed the book to look at its cover again—"_Modern Mathematical Theory _more amusing than me? How awful! A book can't possibly be that much fun."

"Oh, it's not. Trust me. You're far more amusing. You have a pulse, and a working mind, and you don't smell like you've been sitting on a shelf in an obscure bookstore collecting dust for the past ten years." He bought the book to his nose and shuddered. "I guess I can't expect math to be in high demand."

Lucy agreed, smiling lightly.

"But really, don't feel bad about dozing off. You're surprisingly interesting to watch when you sleep. You fidget a lot, and after a while you can see her eyes move real fast even though they're closed. That's how I can tell you're dreaming, it's really very funny." He laughed as if recollecting an entertaining memory that only he would know.

Lucy felt her cheeks flush in the slightest way. She usually remembered her dreams because they were ordinarily incredibly vivid. She could recall details and snapshot images of them as soon as she woke up, and sometimes they stayed with her for days and sometimes they evaporated within minutes. She knew what she dreamt about most of the time, too – she just hoped she didn't give any of it away.

"Do I talk in my sleep?" she asked.

"Sometimes. Most of the time it's impossible to translate. I try to have conversations with you…Doesn't work, though." He laughed again.

She sent her small fist into his chest again. "Don't make fun of me!"

"I'm not!" He was laughing now at her insecurity, uncontrollably.

Her face went pink again with a reluctant smile. She threw her arms across her chest, crossing them and biting down her lip to keep her smile from getting bigger. It was funny, she had to admit. People are so vulnerable when they sleep.

"You basically just…" he choked out between laughs, and began waving his arms around in imitation, "thrash around and go crazy and mumble shit I can't figure out."

Lucy sighed and looked up at the ceiling, embarrassed. "You're cruel."

David's chuckles started to fade. "Nah, I'm just thoroughly entertained." He rustled her hair and messed it up playfully. When she glanced back he smiled an easy grin, and she settled back into her usual resting place. He was a comfortable, safe spot for her.

A few minutes later, once she calmed her slight anxiety about her sleep-talk, she felt her eyes start to go heavy. She couldn't help how much she slept these days; working for Molly suddenly became exhausting, and her nightly routine was becoming so fixed in monotony that her body was simply used to getting tired at the same time every evening. Everyday she went to work, went to dinner, spent time with David, Jack, the boys, or the Jacobs', and went back to her apartment until she fell asleep and David left for the night. There were no nightly interruptions or anything in particular at all that would keep her awake. The last time she felt this scheduled was when she lived in Ms. Carrigan's orphanage, and she didn't particularly like it.

She adjusted her head against his hard chest – the boys had been teaching David more of the physical ropes of being on the streets, even though throwing punches was never the way David handled things, and most of the time he was at school. "It ain't gonna kill ya," Jack had said to convince him. Lucy backed him up – muscles were never a good thing to lack, she thought to herself. So she enjoyed the fighting lessons; she couldn't exactly complain about the enhancement in his arms and chest and stomach. She suppressed a laugh deep in her stomach.

Before letting herself fall asleep in David's company again she looked up at his face. His rich, blue eyes were serious again, scanning the pages of his school book intently. She suddenly felt a little more awake. "Why don't ya stay here tonight?"

His eyes flickered her way. For a moment they stayed locked with hers, until he said flatly, "I don't think so."

She sighed in defeat. The closest thing the two of them had come to actually sleeping together – simply snoozing in the same bed – was whenever David came over to spend time with her and catch up on his reading and she inevitably fell asleep in the middle of it.

"I have to be back at a certain time. You know that," he said, though she swore there was a hint of sadness and restraint in his voice.

It was true. David still lived with his parents. Parents who had rules and expectations and, _ugh_, curfews. Lucy had spent the better part of her childhood without her parents and consequently lived either on the streets with Jack, in various orphanages in and around Boston, or completely on her own back in Manhattan once she had escaped. Rules were foreign things to her, insignificant things that she broke at the drop of a hat. Her past taught her well how to bend the rules; sometimes it hardly worked in her favor, though, and the repercussions seemed endless and exhausting. Yet that's precisely where those old habits were – in the past. She wasn't a kid anymore. She had a steady companion, a secure job, a protective brother, a confidante friend, and a whole slew of newsies who, despite a bite of past betrayal, were good and loyal friends. Life was…well, pretty good, if she was adding it all up.

"Sorry," said David.

"It's okay." Lucy faked a yawn and stretched out her arms over her head. She fell into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Usually whenever he denied staying the night she would in subtle ways remind what he would be missing and tested his limits. She closed his book and tossed it to the floor. One corner of his mouth turned upward, picking up on her actions, and she planted her lips on his, holding them there for sustained moments. He gripped his hands around her hips, clenching them a little tighter with every passing second. She felt her pulse quicken.

Lucy pulled away. She remained inches from his face, the traces of a smirk on her face. He breathed a disbelieving laugh for a second, shook his head briefly and moved in again. But she pulled back and faked another stretch and another weak yawn.

"Goodnight!" she said, knowing full well what she was doing. She plopped down onto her pillow and pulled the blanket up to her chin. A smile itched painfully to come out.

David stayed frozen for a couple of moments, his face reading an obvious thought: What the hell? Lucy raised her finger and held it between her teeth, trying not to chuckle. But David simply sighed and shook his head. His loss, she thought. He gathered his books together and put on his shoes. He kissed Lucy on the forehead, blew out the candles, and left for the evening.

Lucy held her breath until the door closed, for she knew if she opened her mouth to speak she would instead bust out laughing. She felt her teeth dig into her finger, but once she heard the last few footsteps of the David descending the staircase in the hallway, she found nothing to be humorous at all anymore. She was alone that night, just like every other night. There was no person to snuggle up to or talk to or kiss innocently. It was only her. Her and reoccurring, lifelike dreams. She sighed and willed herself to go back to sleep.

But really, when she thought about it, she could hardly complain about the things going on in her mind that were beyond her control, and being alone with her dreams was never as bad – or as lonely – as it seemed…

* * *

A/N: Vote in my poll, please! Thanks, I love you all so very much :)


	3. Intertwined

* * *

Well-rested and ready to tackle anything that got in her way – she was very good at making accomplishments these days now that she wasn't as distracted as before – Lucy went to work at Molly's dress shop, where she worked as the owner's assistant in stitching, mending, and putting back together an array of high-end clothing imported from Europe. Ever since being left in pieces after her infamous, tumultuous affair several months ago, the correlation between her job and her life never got old. The more she sewed things back together, the better she felt.

Molly was still as stern and blunt as she had ever been – intolerant of lollygagging and highly expectant in her work – only it had been kicked up a notch once the turning of the century four months prior had also seen a spike in her business. Lucy had been exhausted for two months straight with the never-ending clientele before Molly finally gave in and hired on another young girl to do the same job Lucy had gotten so comfortable and successful with.

Her name was Anna, and she was the daughter of Molly's neighbor, she was a bit reluctant already. She was hardly as qualified as Lucy, which caused some friction every now and then, and Lucy had to admit that at first she resented the new presence in her tiny workspace she had come to make her own. But anytime she really started to get aggravated about it, she would look at her swollen, throbbing fingers that had been pricked so many times with a dull needle that she could hardly complain for some of the load of work she could now share.

"This dress…" Anna gushed, "is what I'm gonna wear when I get married." She held her ivory hands, clutched, at her chest, and her light green eyes swelled twice their size.

Lucy looked up from her latest repair – an ornate broach that had come loose from a dark black winter coat – and resisted the urge to snap. Anna still had the habit of remaining mesmerized for too long at what the two of them had to work on before getting down to it. The sixteen year-old girl twirled the dress form around, making an O with her mouth at the elegant style of the white dress, and took from it the lacy veil that was attached. She placed it atop her long, red hair and asked excitedly, "What d'ya think, Lucy?"

_Don't snap_, her conscience reminded her quickly. Lucy smiled back and said, "I think you'd make a lovely bride."

Tickled, Anna took a look in the mirror and placed the veil on the work table. She sighed noisily and sank onto her stool. "I can't wait to find the boy I'll marry."

"Hm." Lucy threaded a long string of black through her needle and tied it off.

"I've meet so many boys but I can never seem to keep a handle on 'em…"

Lucy snorted, reading too far into her statement. She pierced the black wool with her needle easily and ran the string through and through and through.

Anna slid the white dress over and positioned it so she could work on the loose beading that was coming apart at the zipper. "The last one I met – Curtis – I thought we'd stay together for a while but it won't work. We was set up by our parents, they met at church. So they brought him over for dinner for a couple 'a Sunday's but we never really had a good conversation until he took me to dinner two weeks ago. He was real polite and everything and I was tryin' my best to come off as nicely as I could but it wasn't working right. I don't think we was a perfect fit, as perfect as our folks were hoping for, but he's real cute. Then as we were walkin' back to our block, he says to me, 'I gotta be honest, I'm not at all wanting to get hitched anytime soon but my mother don't wann hear about it.' So imagine how shocked I was, right? I told him that was too bad…"

"I'm sorry," said Lucy. "He doesn't sound like a quality mate anyway."

"True, which is why we've just been sneakin' out and sleepin' together ever since. It's so much easier this way. Our parents have no idea, but it's so much fun! I'll find another one soon enough anyway…"

Lucy couldn't help it – she busted an easy laugh. Maybe Anna wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

As Esther Jacobs finished reeling in the laundry from outside, Lucy sat on the floor of the kitchen as Sarah sat above her in a chair, running her fingers in and out of Lucy's hair to create two French braids.

"Your hair grows so fast," commented Sarah. It was quite a difference from the short bob Lucy had inflicted on herself nearly half a year ago with blunt scissors and a thirst for drastic change. "I swear, it was just yesterday it was at your shoulders."

"Maybe. I like the length these days, though. I'm real comfortable with it bein' long again." She winced as Sarah tugged a little too hard. "I'd like to keep all my hair though still…"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Sarah recoiled and patted at her friend's sensitive head. "I'm almost finished, I swear."

"Don't feel bad, Sarah, Lucy's just bein' a wimp," called Jack from across the room. He smiled mischievously at Lucy's grimace, and looked back down at his hand of cards. He and Les had been playing cards for the better half of the afternoon and Les was determined to win at least one game – Jack had selfishly been trying to defeat him.

"Jack's treating your brother bad," said Lucy jokingly.

Sarah cracked a smile. "What d'you mean?"

"He's not lettin' Les win. I've been watchin' 'em play ever since the first game. Look at Jack's face – he's dead serious."

They both rotated their heads. His face was, in fact, intent upon winning, as the boys inspected their cards carefully. Les threw down a ten, confident in its high value. A moment passed and Jack threw down his own card. Les punched the air in defeat and let out an impatient groan.

"A jack always beats a ten, buddy. Sorry!" He collected the two cards and added them to his impressive stack.

Sarah mouthed to him, barely audible, "Let 'im win a few rounds!"

"I'm on a roll!" he mouthed back.

She gave him a stern, warning look, the way a mother would a child.

"The kid stood up against Pulitzer, Sarah, I think he can handle a lousy game 'a cards," he said with a grin, motioning to the youngest Jacobs.

"Yeah, mind your business," said Les with a pout.

Sarah shook her head and went back to braiding Lucy's hair. "Sometimes I just give up, I swear."

Lucy sighed. "Out of sight, out of mind, Sarah. Out of sight, out of mind."

"True," she agreed. "Okay, I'm finished. It looks lovely."

"As always." Lucy got up from the ground and dusted off her navy blue skirt. She looked in the mirror and turned to the side a couple of times. The door opened behind her in her reflection and in walked both David and his father Meyer. She spun around and smiled with a wave, her fingers twinkling in the air. David winked in her direction – it was small, probably went by unnoticed by everyone else, but it surely meant something to her. They were never affectionate around his family, but having a little something they shared between only the two of them, like a tiny secret, made her want to giggle.

Esther floated over and gave Meyer a quick peck on the cheek. She and Sarah made their way to the kitchen and tended to the cooking food. Meyer thumbed through a small stack of envelopes and handed one to David. He furrowed his eyes, for he hardly ever received anything in the mail, and looked it over. Meyer made his way to the card game on the floor and joined in. He asked why Les seemed so angry and Jack simply smiled his charismatic smile.

David remained looking at his envelope as he walked down the short hallway and into his room. Lucy, who had been eyeing him the entire time, skipped along in his wake.

As soon as they were alone in his bedroom, he sat down and Lucy sat bouncily on his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek. He hugged her back and kissed her deeply but very quickly. How awkward it would have been had someone walked in on them making out.

"What's that?" she asked.

"I dunno. A letter from my uncle in Virginia." He tore it open and unfolded a paper that was nearly dripping in ink. Heavy, penned handwriting looked foreign to Lucy. The intense cursive words, all at a dramatic slant, made her dizzy.

"I didn't know you had relatives out there," she said.

"Well, we at least have an uncle in Virginia, I know that."

She rested her head on his. "What's he sayin'?"

David ran over the writing quickly. He paused at certain points, raising his eyebrows and recoiling his head. When he finished he looked up into the air, a mixture of surprise and possibility etched in his face. "Huh…Interesting."

"What is it?" Lucy took the letter and tried to translate it. "I give up, I can only read print. What's he say?"

David scratched his head and took another glance at the letter. "Oh, ya know...Nevermind. It's nothin'." He folded it back up and placed it inside its envelope. He fell backwards onto the fluffed blanket of his bed and sighed deeply. Lucy, who had still been situated on his lap, followed suit, and the two of them breathed exhaustedly, staring up at the ceiling.

"I got good grades on my math test," said David.

"_Modern Mathematical Theory_ bullshit?"

"Yep."

"Nice." She held out her palm and he smacked his against it. "I guess it really is good that I sleep when you come over sometimes, huh?"

He sat up and rolled his arm over her chest, curling her into a comfortable embrace. "You don't have to sleep all the time, though."

Lucy giggled as he kissed her cheek. She cherished these flirty, physical moments – with David, they didn't come that often. It simply meant that when they happened they were that much more adorable.

"_Ahem_."

They both rolled over to Jack standing in the doorway. A look of faux suspicion and authority took over his face as he folded his arms over his chest. David laughed off his intimidation (really, in what position was Jack to pass judgment?) and sat back up. Lucy sighed, frustrated.

"Dinner's ready," said Jack, and disappeared.

David stood before Lucy, who refused to get up and go back out again. He held out his hands to hoist her up. "The faster we eat, the faster we can get back to your place."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll just fall asleep again." She let David's arms lift her to her feet. She smoothed over her hair and clothes.

David stared at her for a moment and shook his head. Before they turned to leave the room, Lucy swore she saw the traces of a smirk on his face.

* * *

A/N: Conflict is on its way! I promise. I'm laying down the foundation. Not to mention, we need to know why Lucy's longing for that deviant behavior in the prologue!


	4. Trembling

When Lucy arrived at Tibby's restaurant on Saturday morning she found Jack leaning against the wall outside. His black cowboy hat was atop his head, his right leg bent up to his support his weight on the brick, and a cigarette hung lazily out of his mouth. As if catering to his inner child, his eyes were glued to a weathered Western dime novel in his hands.

Something about seeing him made Lucy pause and smile. "Hey cowboy. Catchin' up on the news?"

Startled out of his reverie he let his leg fall down to the ground and he closed the paper book. "Heya Luce."

"What is this?" She held out her hand as she approached him. He handed her the storybook and she flipped through its pages briefly, suspecting he still kept a few of these in his back pocket the way he had when he was a child. She was comforted in a way by this; before they were separated nearly seven years ago. Jack had always been infatuated by the West, and Lucy admired his nature to dream that way.

"Just one 'a those novels," he said flatly and snatched it back, securing it in his pocket. "Ready to eat? I'm starvin'."

Tibby's held its regulars that morning – the newsies Lucy had come to accept as extended family. As they walked in, she noticed a small hoard of them grouped around one table, watching eagerly in anticipation: Blink and Mush were arm-wrestling, something they had come to do from time to time when things were dead. Racetrack held up his arms, a cigar tucked between his index and middle finger of his right hand.

Lucy and Jack took a seat and watched the game. Mush was winning – five rounds out of eight he had come out he winner. Boots, Specs and Skittery all tossed coins into the air, placing their bets on the reigning champ. Inwardly Lucy rooted for Blink. Race called the start of the round and the two of them flexed their arms, beads of sweat trickling down their cheeks. Lucy blushed in spite of herself – she could hardly help the reaction to such male athleticism.

In a stunning upset, though, Mush's arm gave way and Blink slammed it to the table in triumph. The boys who had betted against him groaned and slumped their shoulders, and Lucy clapped loudly. Blink stood up, did a brief victory dance and tipped his hat in her direction.

Jack laughed and shook his head. The waiter came round and jotted down their orders quickly. They were starting to become usual customers that they hardly read the menus at all anymore.

"So I hear you sleep talk," said Jack casually.

She blushed. "On occasion."

"That's embarrassing. Bettah hope you don't say nothin' you don't want David to hear."

A wave of nerves raked through her core and she felt the familiar gut-wrenching rush of trying to hold in a deep secret. She tried to contain herself. "You really wanna think about David gettin' cozy with your little sister, Jack?"

He looked back at her sternly then flicked his eyes away. "Yeah, well. Whatevah." He got up and walked over to the group of boys arm-wrestling.

She was left with an uneasy feeling for a quick moment. When Jack had looked up at her his eyes were hard, and she swore that for at least one second they each saw him in their minds – hard, silvery eyes and a smirk so smug you couldn't smack it off his face if you tried. They had to have thought of him then, the boy who'd shattered Lucy's innocence (in Jack's eyes) and simultaneously had been plaguing her thoughts.

Oh, he was there alright. He never went away. It was only now, though, that when her mind couldn't faze him out altogether that he started showing up unexpectedly in places like her dreams, and how they only seemed to be known to everyone else when David lay next to her. She looked down to her trembling hands. She inhaled deeply and took a swig of water.

* * *

Lucy held her index finger between her teeth, dulling the pain. She tasted the iron-like tinge of a drop of blood with her tongue and she winced. Really, her hands had all but given up on her now; she was just about finished lining the inside of a dress when suddenly – _prick_ – she felt the familiar tingle in the tip of her finger.

"Are you alright?" asked Anna, appearing from behind a light blue gown from across the room.

Lucy nodded and clenched her finger tight within her palm to numb her throbbing finger into succession. "You'd think my skin would be thick enough to take a stupid needle now."

"Tell me about it." Anna held up her hands – four out of her ten fingers were bandaged up like little, tiny mummies. She sighed and fished around the work table for a suitable color of thread.

_Get it together_, Lucy told herself. She shook her head and took a cue from Anna. She found a scrap of white fabric and wrapped it around and around her finger until she could tie it off and the blood wouldn't soak through. She cracked her knuckles and got back to work.

"Remember Curtis?" asked Anna after a couple of quiet moments.

Lucy held her tongue. "Sure do."

"Well, I can tell ya now that's over," she said with a scoff and a roll of her eyes.

"What happened?"

"'He's in _love_,'" she imitated cynically, drawing out the O in 'love' dramatically. "Ugh, apparently his parents caught wind of us not bein' serious about getting married an' all, so they set him up with another girl from church and he's head ovah heels for her." She scoffed again. "Ugh, she's not even that pretty. She's blonde!"

Lucy cracked a laugh and looked at her brown hair and at Anna's deeply red locks. "Those're the worst. They pretend to be all innocent and pure."

"Don't they? Her name's Mary, too. Go figure!"

It felt good to laugh, even though it was probably ridiculous to accuse someone's low worth on something as shallow as hair color. She couldn't help it, though; she remembered the feeling of seeing a new girl in the arms of the boy you were supposedly attached to. Try as she might, she could never really get the image of that that blonde sitting on _his_ lap at Medda's show that fateful evening out of her mind completely.

Lucy heard Molly's quick footsteps outside the workroom headed their way. Anna straightened up and plunged her hands to work at the dress. Molly appeared, swinging open the door in a hurry with a clipboard in hand. She spoke in her characteristically speedy tone, "Alright, alright, girls, I'm much busier than I thought I'd be today, which means I need more help than usual. Not so much puttin' things back together, I've got a delivery to make but I can't leave the store and I don't trust that wagon-driver as far as I can throw 'im, so basically I need you two to go with him to make sure the deliveries get made to the house without any problems, sound good? Good."

Lucy ran her words over in her mind. A moment later she said, "So you need us to go with the driver somewhere?"

"Well, aren't you sharp as tack, Lucy? Yes, that's what I'm sayin'. Here's the information, the driver's waitin' outside, I'm off to go package up the garments. Why don't you take Anna with ya, she needs to learn the ropes and how I like things done." She disappeared as quickly as she arrived and left the sheet of paper floating in the air in her wake. Lucy jumped to retrieve it and got up from her stool.

"Well, this is exciting!" Anna hopped up and tucked her needle and thread into the dress form.

_Fresh air'll do ya some good_, Lucy's conscience told her. She wasn't quite as bouncy as Anna, that was for sure, but a little trip around the city was a nice change of pace. She finished off the seam she was working on and they walked through the showroom, past the French and Italian works of art, and into the noisy street of Manhattan. Molly had carefully placed the garments in a tightly-sealed bag and was pointing at the driver with explicit directions. Her Irish accent was stronger than usual.

Lucy and Anna hopped into the back of the wagon and waved assuredly to Molly as they started off down the block. The sun burned into Lucy's eyes painfully and she closed them from the heat, as she had been so used to working endlessly inside the dress shop. Anna grabbed the order form from Lucy's hand curiously.

"Where we goin'?" she asked, skimming over the paper absently with her eyes.

Lucy looked over at the form. Her eyes flew to the top of the page, where the resident's address was. She felt her stomach drop straight to the ground and her mouth went dry. _Of all the places_, she thought to herself. _Of all the places in the entire world._

Her pulse quickened. Thumped wildly in her eardrums. She was already on the wagon; she couldn't get off even if she tried. She breathed deeply. As deeply as she could.

"Hey." Anna tapped her shoulder to get her attention.

_Jump off the wagon_, Lucy thought. _Just jump right off onto the street and no one will even notice you were gone._ She opened her eyes and saw Molly staring at them, and she was disappearing, getting smaller. Her arms were crossed over her chest and Lucy was frozen in her seat. Anna had taken the paper from her grasp but was unable to read it.

_I can still feel you_, she suddenly heard the voice in her dream say. "And I'm still afraid," she said as she held her face in her hands.

"Alright, you gotta tell me where we're goin' before I lose my mind," interrupted Anna.

Lucy came back up again. She had to vocalize it. She had to accept it. She was trembling, but she had to say. "We're goin' to Brooklyn."

* * *

A/N: I wonder who, exactly, lives in Brooklyn...? Hehehe


	5. Injuries

_Six months_, Lucy thought to herself. _Six months it's been since it all fell apart._

"I've only been to Brooklyn a couple 'a times," said Anna. She leaned against the cab of the wagon and twirled pieces of hair around her fingers. "Have you?"

Lucy turned her head and stared at her. She unhinged her jaw and waited for words to come out. Luckily the wagon hit a bump in the road and they were both tossed around before she could answer. She found her place again and started running her hands furiously through her hair. It was straight, right? He had always been infatuated by the way it curled; she hoped beyond hope it was straight as an arrow today.

_"I think I'm fallin' a little bit in love with you."_ Lucy punched the air at the memory. She smacked at her head to dodge the flood of thoughts coming her way – the restaurant, the party, the hickeys, the sex, the closet, the fight, the kissing, the words, his lips, his eyes. They made her want to scream.

"Are you alright?" interrupted Anna. She stared, dumbfounded and freaked out. "Ya look like you're havin' a fit or somethin'."

Lucy gathered all her hair to one side and looked up into the bright blue April sky. Not a cloud in sight. It was an ironically beautiful day. She cursed the heavens for making it so lovely. She had to relax, though. She was going to Brooklyn for the first time since the last time she saw him, true; but she was not going to see him. They were going to the residential area. Really, how likely was it that she would see him at all?

_He _is_ Brooklyn_, she thought in spite of herself. _Fantastic._

It was too quickly that the driver was making its way to southern Manhattan. She looked ahead and found that the Brooklyn Bridge, in all its infamous glory, was merely yards away, so close to what connected Manhattan and Brooklyn, her present and her past. A past she had kept tucked neatly away in the corners of her mind; a past that admittedly crept up every now and then but never fully resurfaced. Just when she had a hold on it, here it was again, wanting to come back out with a vengeance.

"How far d'you think the water is from the bridge?" asked Anna curiously, peering over the edge of the open wagon to gauge the distance to the Hudson River.

"Why, d'you wanna jump? I'll jump." Lucy was strangely quick to answer.

"Um, no, I was just wonderin'…" Anna turned back around uneasily. She scooted an inch or two away from Lucy and folded her arms over her chest. "You sure you'se alright?"

"I just…I have…Brooklyn wasn't fun for me that last time I went," she summed up ambiguously.

Suddenly Anna understood and it was easy to see from the look on her face. "Could a guy have anything to do with that?"

Lucy scratched her fingers fervently. "I don't, uh, know why you'd jump to that conclusion…?"

"Oh, Lucy, I get you completely. The only thing that could make a girl act as crazy as you are right now is a bad relationship that's still fresh." She placed a delicate hand on her shoulder. "Trust me. We'se all been there."

Lucy curled her legs into her stomach and wrapped her arms around them. She placed her chin on her knees and rocked back and forth with the bumpiness of the wagon wheels. She stared straight ahead and watched Manhattan become smaller and smaller and smaller…

In no time at all, it seemed, they were off the bridge. She could not recall exactly the street names and her whereabouts, for she never really made it a point to get that comfortable in Brooklyn. Even though they were still in the city, these people here seemed so different from her. They weren't cheerful or polite or smiling; why anyone would choose to live here and not Manhattan was beyond her. Why Brooklyn? What was so flipping great about Brooklyn?

"Where're we goin'?" asked Anna. She handed Lucy the form Molly had given to them.

"Kingston Street. That's pretty nice, right? It sounds nice. Like a nice neighborhood. Rich, even. I mean, they'd have to be if they ordered something from Molly since it's a European clothes store. Ya know?"

Anna put her hand on Lucy's shoulder again. She breathed in deeply, closed her eyes and said slowly, "It's okay."

She rolled her eyes as Anna continued her breathing exercise, and she shook her head, looking around the borough. They were, in fact, going into the residential areas. If the people near the docks seemed different, they were even more different now; the further they went, the nicer the people seemed to dress. Women held lacy parasols and men had and top hats. Children had curls in their hair and shiny shoes that looked like they'd never been touched. _We're not in Manhattan anymore,_ she thought to herself.

The driver stopped in front of a large and luxurious townhouse. Anna stood in amazement as soon as they got out as Lucy rummaged through the cab of the wagon and carefully took out two garment bags. She laid both of them out across her arms in front of her, careful not to let it drag. She wanted to make this as quick as possible, so she grabbed Anna's hand as she gazed upward at the ornate architecture and down at the cobblestone walkway. They handed the dresses off to a cold-faced maid and hopped into the back of the wagon again.

"That wasn't so bad!" encouraged Anna. She shook Lucy's shoulders in an effort to shake out some of her nerves.

Lucy labored a laugh. She wanted so badly to retell the story of her rocky relationship with the boy who epitomized the very heart of Brooklyn to Anna, but she couldn't find the words…This boy had weaseled his way into her life, and now, even after all was said and done, remained this omnipresence that she could never wholly shake off.

The wagon made its way back to town. When Lucy saw the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge in their path she unclenched herself, relieved. Anna had been talking nonsense ever since they left Kingston Street to help take Lucy's mind off of that boy. Lucy picked up on the silly conversation every now and then but her attention inevitably floated elsewhere.

Just before they made it to the docks, the driver made an expected turn and they started heading into town. "Hope ya girls don't mind, I'm just gonna stop in for a quick drink!" he called from up front. The two girls looked at each other; Anna repeated her breathing exercise and placed her hand on Lucy's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay." She nodded with tranquility.

Lucy had no choice but to take her advice. She turned to face her and placed her hands in Anna's and squeezed her eyes shut. _Shhh_…

They came to a halt and the driver hopped down from the wagon and into the pub right off the street. Lucy cautiously opened her left eye: Anna was still meditating; the street was not too busy; a couple of men played chess on a nearby porch; a mother carried groceries away from the market. She opened her other eye. No newsies in sight.

"Okay. I feel a little better now," she said.

Anna opened her eyes and smiled. "He's just a stupid boy. They come and go, remembah?"

She nodded.

"Speaking of…" Anna's eyes drifted off behind her. "Your boy, he got bright blonde hair?"

"No…" She stiffened suddenly.

"Is he tall and lanky with a black button-down?"

"Not usually…What're you talkin' about?" She turned and saw in the distance the boy Anna had been describing. Then she saw the boy's friends, and a few other ones to boot. Thankfully, she recognized none of them. She turned around to see Anna staring wide-eyed, the way you would look at a piece of meat after not eating for a couple of days.

Running her hands through her hair, Anna stood up in the wagon, brushed off her dress and hopped down to the street effortlessly. Lucy watched as she casually leaned herself against the wagon and fan herself nonchalantly. Lucy was skeptical; was this girl serious? Yet sure enough, Anna's noticeable red hair and subtle actions caught the attention of the boys and the blonde casually made his way over.

Lucy slumped and held her hand over her eyes. "I can't believe I'm watching this right now," she groaned. She peeked between her fingers to find the blonde boy smiling and preparing to speak to Anna.

"Hi there," he said with a tip of his cap.

"Oh! Hello." Anna held out her hand. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed it. "You startled me."

Lucy rolled her eyes.

"Sorry about that. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Well, I my name's Anna. What's yours?"

"I could tell ya my real name…but then I'd have to kill ya."

"Oh, for Christ's sake…" Lucy muttered a bit too loudly.

There was a pause in their conversation, and Lucy knew she had been discovered making cynical, bitter remarks under her breath. She slowly sat upright and gave a pathetic wave. _Of all the places_, she reminded herself again. _Of all the places in the entire world._ Why did she have to be there in Brooklyn? _God's still punishing me_, she concluded.

"This is my good friend Lucy," Anna introduced. She waved for her to come down. Lucy clumsily made her way to where they were. The boy shook hands with her carelessly and turned his attention back to Anna.

"What're you two goils doin' on this street? We don't get a lot 'a lookahs around heah unless it's late at night," he said slyly.

"Well, I'm not sure if I should be offended or not!" Anna winked. "We work in Manhattan. We're here doin' some deliveries for our job. It's all very boring to hear about, really, I'm sure ya don't care to know…"

"No, no, no, go ahead." He leaned his arm on the wagon and rested comfortably. "I'm all ears."

Lucy folded her arms over her chest and drifted away from the conversation. She blew air into her cheeks, puffing them up and making blubbering noises with her lips. She tapped her foot against the ground and rotated her head around aimlessly. She took note of the driver inside of the bar having gotten quite comfortable with his pint of ale – she cursed him. She drew scribbles in the dirt with the tip of her boot. She thought of the million other things she could have been doing.

At one point, she looked up from the ground and on the street corner saw the friends of the blonde boy. They watched on curiously, studying the way their fellow comrade was putting on the moves, and grinned like hungry puppies.

Then suddenly, a boy appeared from around the corner – dark blue shirt, bright red suspenders, black shiny cane.

Lucy gasped and spun around too quickly. She ran right into the wagon and smacked her nose against the wood – hard. She tried to rub the pain away and let it go unnoticed, but Anna caught sight of her.

"Lucy! Are you okay?"

Lucy held onto her nose and mumbled, "'Mfine."

"No, you hit that hard!"

"'Mfine!" She fumbled to think clearly but failed.

Anna lunged forward to look at her. Lucy felt her nose throbbing in pain but her heart was beating so fast that she hardly noticed. All she could think about was that she wanted more than ever to be invisible and nonexistent. Anna had her hands on her shoulders, squaring her in her direction. She noticed out of her peripheral vision that he had stopped walking and, quite possibly, was now looking her way.

"I think you're bleeding," said Anna with concern.

"I'm not –" Lucy pulled her hand away and looked at it. Sure enough, there was a small pool of blood inside her palm. "I'm bleeding! Oh god, this is awful!"

"Shh, it's okay…Just breathe."

"Oh, shut up Anna!"

Lucy threw her head back and pinched her nose closed amidst the pain. _What the hell?!_ she screamed over and over and over inside her head.

Anna searched around her pockets swiftly. "Oh, I don't have a hanky with me!"

"Hurry up, hurry up!"

"I'm sorry! I don't –"

"Heah."

Their eyes flickered to a clean, white, modest piece of cloth dangling in the air. Lucy's eyes followed the hand that held it, up the rolled-up sleeves of a blue shirt, and right into the piercing, silvery blue eyes of Spot Conlon.

She swore she felt her heart stop.

"Oh, thanks so much!" gushed Anna. She took the offering graciously and without warning, shoved it right up Lucy's nose.

"Ow!" She recoiled in pain.

"Sorry…"

"What's goin' on heah?" asked Spot in his abrasive, strong voice, a voice that no matter how pleasant his words were, would always carry the resonance of a bullet slicing the air.

"Sorry about this," Anna was quick to respond. "I was just talkin' with this boy here, and my friend accidentally…well, I'm not sure how it happened, but she hit her nose."

Lucy wrenched open her eyes (as she was fighting so hard to pretend this was all just a hideous nightmare) and straightened herself out. She wiped one hand on the back of her blue skirt and used the other to hold Spot's balled-up hanky to her pulsating nose. Her eyes danced in all sorts of directions as she fumbled to maintain her dignity in spite of herself. She looked up at Spot straight-on. He was fighting the obvious urge to laugh and settled for pressing his lips together.

_Speak_, her conscience reminded. "Hi." Her voice was nasal and meek.

"Hi." He let his eyes bore into hers for a moment before turning to the others. "How ya doin', Ace?" He smacked the blonde boy on his shoulder.

"Ace! Ha-ha, now you hafta kill me!" laughed Anna.

"Oh, c'mon, ya think my parents really named me 'Ace'?" he smiled.

She shrugged. "I don't know? You'se 'Ace' to me, though, that's all that really matters, don't'cha think?"

Lucy would have made a rude remark to herself but all she could focus on was Spot. He was orienting his body towards her but all of his attention was elsewhere. His eyes nowhere near her. It was like she was a complete stranger. It was not like the many times they hid their relationship in front of everyone, faking it for everyone else but at least he would wink or show some kind of secret affection to her. Now…nothing. She hardly registered at all with him. She looked down at the ground, awkwardly situating one foot over the other.

She took the hanky away from her nose and checked it with her other finger. "Ugh." Still bleeding. She stuffed it back up her nostril, succumbing to the humiliation.

"There's a story behind your nickname, though, ain't there?" giggled Anna.

"Maybe. I guess you'll just hafta find out."

Spot threw his arm over Ace's neck. "We call him 'Ace' 'cause he's such an ace with the ladies. 'Specially at hookin' pretty goils like ya'self."

"Oh, that's sweet, but I'm not so sure he's hooked me just yet." Anna upturned her nose and straightened her posture and breathed in a way that made her chest stick out.

Lucy held her arm over her stomach tighter than before. The old, familiar feeling of rejection started to creep back in. She looked inside the bar to find the driver sucking down the last of his drink hungrily.

"Doin' a damn fine job, though," replied Spot. "I taught 'im everything he knows so you know he lives up to his name real good."

Lucy scoffed.

All three looked her way at once. Anna breathed an uncomfortable laugh. Spot stared, unspeaking, into Lucy's eyes until she faltered and looked back down at the ground.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch ya name yet, sweetheart," said Spot, holding out his hand.

"I'm Anna. Nice to meet you." He lowered his head and pecked her hand. She made an involuntary shivering noise, after which she giggled and adjusted her stance.

Lucy looked up again to see Spot turned towards her. He looked into her nervous eyes and held out his han. "And you are?"

She straightened up at once, her mouth falling open. She waited a second for him to correct himself, or at the very least search her face for recognition and make it known that he knew _exactly_ who she was. Instead he remained still, his hand outstretched, staring expectantly.

She balled up the hanky, threw it to the ground and answered, "I'm _leaving_."

With the tension so thick in the air you could hardly see straight, Lucy hoisted herself onto the wagon and slammed her back against the cab. She clenched her jaw and crossed her arms so hard across her chest she resembled a child being put in time-out. A few moments later, the driver ambled his way out of the bar and into the cab, and Anna reluctantly said goodbye and climbed back into the wagon.

Lucy stared straight ahead. She could hardly believe what had just happened – _had_ that just happened? With her teeth grinding together she exhaled through her nose as best as her injury would allow. She pinched her nostrils together with tears welling at both the pain and the insulting display of ignorance.

They pulled away back to home again. Anna waved sadly to the boys. Lucy pressed her trembling lips together, and out of the corner of her eye, swore she saw Spot take only one glance in her direction before he turned his back to walk away.


	6. Stains

Lucy was light-headed and dizzy. As if at any given moment she could be knocked right to the ground like a feather. If she looked at her reflection, the weakness in her face would frighten her. She sadly recognized this person though – this girl who let herself hang in the pull of an incessant, dangerous presence.

"Why did you do that?" she asked Spot. Her voice was breaking.

He stood tall and rigid across from her. His eyes, so hard and resolute, were icy.

Lucy wiped a tear from her cheek and crossed her arms loosely. She felt her shoulder muscles tighten as she added, "You shouldn't have done that. That felt horrible."

He walked towards her and she unfolded her arms. He remained looking at her and his gaze seemed to soften. His gait went loose and she started to see him in a different light, a changing light. With every step, his face relaxed and he was far less stoic and profound. She felt warmth coming towards her now, not the cool breeze that he often left in his wake.

They stood inches from each other. She leaned towards him and he did the same. A smile – not even a smirk – flickered on his face, and he cupped his hands behind her head. He said nothing, and Lucy closed her eyes as he kissed her deeply. A fire ignited deep within her as she melted like wax into him. He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, hovering and breathing her in like a much-needed scent. He curled a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I'm not perfect," he said.

"Neither am I, but that was mean…"

"You know I'm no good at apologies."

Lucy couldn't look into his eyes. She held onto his arms and said, "Oh, Spot."

It was fleeting now, and everything in her mind started to dissipate. The flame flickered, the air got cool, and Spot – he faded away. As her pulse sped up, reverberating in her ears, she clutched her chest and sat up with a start. She was in her room again, and it had been yet another one of her tantalizing dreams. She covered her hands with her face and noticed that her neck and forehead were damp with sweat.

In reality, too, she felt dizzy. She fell into her hands and closed her eyes.

"Well, that was a new one."

Lucy turned with a gasp. David's hard stare was fixed on his book in front of him. She had forgotten in those few personal moments that he was there. She hung her head low, unsure what to say. She felt like her body temperature had spiked and she quickly threw the covers down her legs, feeling freer already. Biting her lip, she turned back to look at David. He was unmoving but it was obvious from how rigid he was that something had upset him.

"What's wrong?"

He shrugged his shoulders with difficulty. He turned the page and the sound of it seemed to echo off the walls of the room. "Interesting dream?"

Then Lucy understood. "You could say that."

He suddenly slammed his book shut and threw his hands behind his head, imitating a relaxed posture. "What was it about, Luce?"

Lucy was put-off at how arrogant she thought he was. It was as if he had found out a secret and he was holding it above her head, dangling it and watching her work like a dog to grab it. It was an ugly side of him she had hoped never existed. She was wrong, though, because she felt deep down a sting of hurt, and she avoided his eyes as she searched for an answer.

"What'd I say?" she mumbled.

"I guess it's not so much what you said but who was in it."

She looked up and challenged him. "Why don't ya just tell me, David? You seem to know everything about me."

He stared, unspeaking. His jaw visibly clenched harder and harder. "You're right, I don't know anything about you." In a quick motion he snapped his arms forward and he was over the side of her bed, getting into his shoes, tying them roughly.

Lucy lunged forward and grabbed his shoulders. "Alright, can we at least talk about it instead of dancin' around it, please? Turn around."

He shoved her hands away like a twitch and stood upright. Lucy, ready to get into it, jumped to her feet and stood herself in front of him. He tried avoiding her eyes, moving from side to side yet she followed his every motion until he finally gave in and looked her straight-on.

"Are you bein' serious right now? You're gettin' all bent outta shape over a stupid dream!"

He scoffed. "It's not just that, Lucy, it's obvious he's on your mind."

She was speechless and dumbfounded. How on earth could she justify something beyond her control? It wasn't as if she had planned to have a dream about Spot and say his name aloud in his presence. Was he serious? She stuttered and managed to choke out, "I can't – You are – This is unbelievable. I can't even believe you're holdin' this against me. You think I can help what I dream about? My god!"

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. His gaze shifted away from her and she immediately grabbed his chin with her hand and turned his face towards her.

"Seriously, David!"

"Stop." He grabbed her hands and took them away from his face. They lingered there for a moment as the tension rose. The way he looked at her, the emotion in his eyes, Lucy could see the hint of what he had felt so long ago when he told her that night on stage that he knew about her and Spot. That anger and hurt and repressed jealousy. It could have been her fear that made her see this – or it could have been absolutely true. But neither of them could see what was coming next.

David let his eyes dance over her briefly before saying in a low voice, "I still see him when I look at you sometimes."

Lucy took a step back. "Excuse me?"

"I just…" He punched his fist into his palm. "I just think of the way you guys were together, and I think of his hands all over you and his words twisting you around and the way he left you half-dead on this floor, and when I look at you…I can't help it, I feel sick! He happened to you and it's just so –"

"You'd better stop while you're ahead, David, I mean it!"

"Look, I just – I can't help it! If he wasn't still on your mind, if he wasn't somewhere in there, still infecting you, I wouldn't feel as disgusted as I do sometimes."

Her mouth fell open at the wound that he suddenly ripped wide open. She turned her head to the side and willed her eyes to dry up before they started to tear. She had first had a chance encounter with Spot which hardly went well at all, and now, because it was lingering in her mind so vividly, David was punishing her for it.

The standing between them shifted in an instant – they were no longer on the same page. Now when he looked at her, he no longer saw Lucy; she was just another girl who'd given in to Spot Conlon, a girl he didn't want to associate with, a girl who couldn't redeem herself, or in his mind, wouldn't necessarily want to.

"That was awful, David. You can hardly blame me for something as stupid as…" she suddenly felt a lump in her throat that she swallowed down at once. "You're outta line. You shouldn't have done that, that felt horrible."

"Lucy." He stepped forward, extending his arm. She quickly hit it away and turned to face the opposite direction. A painful sort of silence bounced off the walls of the room, and it was too long before David packed up his books and made his way to the door.

Listening to his footsteps against the floor, the creaking of the boards and the pounding of her heart inside her head, made Lucy's face start to quiver and screw up. It was hurtful, what he had said; she didn't deserve it. As he opened the door she closed her eyes, preparing to hear him stomp all the way downstairs. Until he sighed loudly and shut it again without leaving.

She turned around, surprised at his decision to stay. She blinked away tears and he stood upright and profound. They stared deeply to one another, hoping to convey what they were feeling without the sharp hint of words. She opened her mouth thinking something might come out but it didn't. She gave up and looked at the ground.

"I…" he began to say. She looked back up, staring longingly.

Suddenly he walked towards her with vigor. He grabbed her by the face and pressed his lips hard against hers. She grabbed onto his waist, curling her fingers, as his thumbs gripped the misty tear tracks on her face. They remained lip-locked until he pulled back. They looked at each other hesitantly and she expected him to leave again. She was still surprised by the sudden advancement. But instead he pulled her back in with more force. She turned her mind off – the way she had always done with Spot – and let her body take over.

She walked backwards blindly until she fell onto the bed, taking him with her. It knocked the wind out of her at first but she recovered quickly and she hastily went for his white shirt – she yanked it off and smoothed her hands over his chest, noticing again how those fighting lessons were paying off. He reached for the buttons of her blouse and undid them with surprising ease, wriggling her arms out of the sleeves. He took a moment to take both of his hands and smooth tangles of her hair out of her face. She felt the heat of his skin against hers and the weight of him on top of her. He pressed his lips to her neck, to her ribs, to her navel, until he got to the zipper of her skirt and paused.

Her eyes popped open. "What's wrong?"

His fingers were frozen on the small, insignificant thing. He looked back up at her through the tops of his eyes. He said nothing.

She stared back at him, her eyes furrowed and confused. "Why aren't you…"

He looked at the zipper, wanting so badly to complete the simple task of yanking it down but he couldn't do it. He straightened up and hovered over her. She felt her pulse in the taut stretch of her stomach.

"I feel like _him_ now," he said.

"What – What d'you mean?"

"Doing this after I hurt you. I can't do this after that."

She stayed still for a moment glaring back at him, inches from his face. She felt the sting of rejection – again – and she was fed up with it. With pursed lips she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him off of her with force. She scooped up her shirt and covered herself up, getting up off the bed.

"Lucy – Come on…"

She stomped towards the door and swung it wide open. David looked at her, stunned.

"Here's the fucking door!" she yelled. "All you had to do was pull the zipper down!"

He eased up for a second but mimicked her rising temper by throwing his shirt over his head haphazardly and marching towards her with indignant eyes. He shot her an icy glare as he passed and the wisps of her tousled hair breezed, tickling her cheek. She listened now, finally, as his feet jumped from step to step, descending the staircase with incredible ease. She walked towards her window and watched him leave her block outside.

It was only after he was gone completely that she felt her bottom lip quivering. She shut the window and threw her eyes to the corner where a modest bathtub sat with enough water left to suffice. She easily stripped off the rest of her clothes and carefully dipped her bare, shaking body into the water. It was cold, frigid almost. Yet it was the only thing she could do that would make her feel clean again, as that's exactly how David had made her feel – filthy.

* * *

A/N: Ouch David. Very ouch. Thoughts please!


	7. Punch

Lucy wasn't herself for the next few days. She wasn't anything she could recognize at all. She was a mixture of identities, a face in a state of mental limbo that made her anxious. She had been pondering it over and over and over again in a nonstop state of confusion.

When she was young she had been rebellious and likely to break any rule you gave her, just like Jack. She'd grown up a bit when she came to Manhattan – got a job, got an apartment, felt real adult emotions and real heartbreak. After Spot, David brought change to her finite youth, a sort of stability. But she was still the same girl to him sometimes; a girl he'd helped save from the ills that came after Spot, who couldn't fall away from her past even if she'd tried.

She knew she wasn't what David had hoped she would be – straight-laced like him – and she was caught in between her past and future lives. She missed being young and defiant and spontaneous. But she wasn't so sure she could go back to being her younger self again. She wanted to beat her fist against the wall and shed a tear at the same time. Who was she?

Lucy grumbled. She'd been at work all day now, slaving away tirelessly. Every dress looked the same, every repair mind-numbingly exact. She knew she wanted to leave but really, where was she going to go? She could curl up in bed again – that was a pretty comforting act, albeit rather depressing and lonely. She figured Jack would be uncomfortable talking about the fight too, and Sarah wouldn't want to hear about her brother acting that way either. She sighed loudly.

"Alright," said Anna executively. She pushed herself up from the table with her hands and popped her hip out. "Enough 'a this."

Lucy narrowed her eyes. Anna was standing across the small room and speaking directly to her. There was a subtle hint of indignation in her face.

"You're comin' with me," she added assertively. She stuck a pin into the dress form she had been working with.

"What? Where're you goin'?" Lucy's voice was miserable and pathetic.

"I'm goin' out and you're goin' with me!" She walked over and spun the dress Lucy had been working with. She swiftly threw the needle in and out of the fabric so that the button was secure. In ten seconds she'd finished what was taking Lucy a very long time to do.

"We can't just up and leave, Anna, are you crazy?"

Anna disappeared behind the workroom door and reappeared with Molly in tow. She inspected the dresses and garments quickly, checking them off a clipboard and nodding in surprise at how much Anna had accomplished. Lucy then realized how fast Anna had been working throughout the day and couldn't help but think most of it had already been planned. Anna gave her an encouraging smile.

As soon as Molly dismissed them they packed up their things and headed for the street.

"I don't mean to sound mean," started Anna, walking quickly and dragging Lucy along with her, "but you're bad mood's puttin' me down!"

Lucy huffed. "I can't really worry about more people blamin' me for their problems, alright? Not now. Please, not now."

"Okay, I was kiddin', but really, you need to get outta this funk you're in. It ain't healthy."

"I can't help it…I got into this horrible argument with David and I can't seem to shake it off."

"So _he's_ the prick who's givin' you grief?"

Lucy laughed. It felt good to have someone on her side. "Yeah, that's him."

"Well, where we're goin' you can picture him and you'll feel a hell of a lot better, trust me."

She felt better at the idea, at the very possibility of yanking herself out of this state. But she still had reservations. They seemed to be walking aimlessly through Manhattan and she had no idea where it was Anna was taking her. They were starting to get into the gritty, seedy parts of town that usually held the brothels and the social clubs. She used to be a street kid, sure, but they were getting into the underworld of the city that she rarely visited.

"Can I ask where we're goin'?"

Anna smiled to herself. They rounded a corner and stopped. She held her hands at her chest and lolled her head to the side as if looking at a newborn puppy. Lucy looked ahead and snorted a disbelieving laugh – Was Anna serious? What lay one block ahead of them was a massive crowd of boys and men engaged in yelling and drinking and fighting. Her eyes flew to where they all directed their gazes in the middle of it all.

"The most beautiful exhibition of men's sports," gushed Anna.

"A boxing match." She started to smile a different kind of smile, a grin that had a hint of mischievousness. It had been a long time since she had gone to anything like this, but the closer they got the less apprehensive she started to feel. Perhaps Anna was right. Perhaps it was exactly what she needed – a mindless display of head-bashing to quell the nonstop thoughts in her mind.

"I know someone who's boxing!" yelled Anna. "That's why I was workin' so fast today so I could come see him, I didn't wanna miss it!"

The men were unapologetic in their leisure; they were screaming, drinking, spitting, smoking, sweating, laughing. It was disgusting. They were like animals watching for a fresh piece of meat to come their way, and they were all directed towards the center of the commotion, the boxing ring. Two men were in the center of a blood-splattered platform, swollen-eyed and shining with slick sweat.

It didn't seem to be the first time Anna had come to one of these. She grabbed Lucy's arm and the two of them made their way towards the front of the crowd.

"Where's your friend?" Lucy shouted.

"I don't know!" Anna looked around eagerly. "I hope we didn't miss him!"

Lucy looked at the sign that said, _Round 18_, and doubted it.

"Oh, wow! So many people here! This is good for you!" suggested Anna.

"Why?!"

"Because ya won't be able to hear yourself think about David when it's this loud!"

She laughed. The bell rang, signaling the end of the round, and still the two men in the ring were standing. The crowd booed and hissed, and one man behind them even tried to start a fight of his own. Lucy grinned. It was the type of thing David would want to protect her from, this crazy, insane, brutal life that she was hardly quick to condemn. She sat back and relished in it.

During round twenty three, one of the boxers hit the floor with a resounding thud and the entire crowd erupted in both cheers and grief. They looked around to see who would be next.

"Oh, I can't find him anywhere!" complained Anna. "What if we really did miss him?"

"Well, what does he look like?" Lucy started to look around. "And be really specific!"

"He's got blonde hair…"

Lucy watched the ring. Coming up from the ropes was a boy with blonde hair. Bright blonde hair. She recognized him immediately. She didn't particularly like this boy, as he had come off as arrogant as there ever was, but yep, she knew who this boy was. She was there when Anna met him.

"…He's kinda tall, kinda lanky…"

Lucy grabbed Anna's head and rotated it towards the middle. Immediately she smiled a megawatt smile. Her red hair – and female form – was easy for Ace to spot. He nodded his head coolly and winked. She fluttered and sat down giddily.

Lucy stared at Ace, sticking her thumb between her teeth and crossing her legs. If Ace was there in Manhattan fighting, surely someone else would have come with him. She felt a mixture of Anna's same giddiness and her own resentment. She still hated the way he had ignored her so rudely not long ago.

But the more she thought about David's degrading of her, the more similar to Spot she felt. Spot was not the only guilty person, not by a long shot. She felt closer to his level now, if not at the very same.

She sat up at the realization. _That's it._

She couldn't find him, though. For a minute she thought he was going to be Ace's opponent – her stomach flip-flopped at the thought – or that he wasn't there at all. But then, once the second boxer stepped into the ring, Spot appeared not ten feet away in the crowd. Lucy's eyes flew to his direction immediately. He was with one of his usual cronies and had a glass of beer in his grip. She bit her lip. She pondered smacking him at the same time as kissing him.

"Aren't you so excited?!" Anna shouted and yanked her to her feet.

"So excited!" She kept her eyes on the ring but could still see Spot from the corner of her eye.

The bell rang for the start of the round and it was then that Spot noticed her. She saw it but didn't look. She smiled as if showing excitement for the match and flipped a hand through her hair. She saw him lean to his friend and tell him something. She watched him look at her again, and it looked like she was _really_ enjoying the boxing – she could hardly hide her grin. He made his way over and she felt adrenaline flowing through her veins for the first time in a long time.

"Heya Anna." His voice was still cool above the loud noise.

"Oh, hi Spot! You here with Ace? This is so fun!"

He laughed. He and Lucy did not acknowledge each other. "Glad you'se havin' a good time, sweetheart, I hope ya bet big on him."

"Oh, Spot, ladies don't believe in petty gambling." She nudged him with her elbow and a wink.

He chuckled. "Right."

Lucy fixed her eyes on the ring. Ace was blocking a punch with his face and came back with a painful blow to the opponent's jaw. She would have winced had she not pictured David's face on the guy.

"Mind if I stand heah?" asked Spot, suddenly appearing at her side. His smile was slight and easy, like he was up to something, and she knew instantly not to trust him when he smiled like that.

She said nothing and shrugged carelessly. _Two can play your stupid game, asshole._

He picked up on it. He leaned close to her and put his hand on her waist, trapping her. "Please?"

Reluctantly she stepped to the side to make room. He took his place and Lucy bit down hard on her lip to keep from letting out any emotion. She wanted so badly to speak to him – ask him how he was, what he'd been up to, if he was seeing anyone – but she fought the urge. After that stunt he pulled a few days ago in Brooklyn she decided he was going to have to work to get her attention.

The two of them said absolutely nothing to each other. He calmly took swigs of his beer and let his eyes ping-pong between the boxers. She concentrated on the ring, too, when she wasn't trying to slow down the rapid pace of her heart. Every so often, though, she caught him sneaking glances her way. She remained frozen in her stance, shoulders squared in front of her, neck locked and unmoving. She wasn't giving up that easily.

Ace then started pounding his fists into his opponent's stomach, running him backward into the corner. The crowd roared, getting to their feet and raising their fists of crumbled cash. Anna jumped up and down clapping. She threw her arms around Lucy and cheered. Ace won the round.

Lucy clapped her hands.

"Why're you clappin'? Don't you hate us?" asked Spot, speaking inches from her ear.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm here with Anna, I really don't give a shit how your boy does up there."

He blinked, surprised at her response.

Lucy suppressed a chuckle.

A vendor walked by and Spot grabbed the young boy's collar, tossing him a coin and yanking a beer from his cart. Without making eye contact with her he handed it to Lucy. "Heah, loosen the hell up."

Lucy laughed inside because he was reacting in the most unexpected way – he actually cared that she was being cold and detached, and she was floored that he was taking the bait. It was working. She wanted him to feel ignored and unwanted, the way he had made her feel, and it was fantastic to feel like she could control at least one boy who had done her wrong. She took it a step further.

"Anna, I gotcha some beer," she said and passed it her way.

"Oh, thanks!"

Lucy saw Spot stop in the middle of a drink to glare from the corners of his eyes. She bit her tongue. He leaned in again and said, "That cost me a dime, ya know."

"Oh?"

"You owe me ten cents."

"Oh, whoops," she shrugged, turning to look him in the eye. "I don't have anything on me."

He scoffed. "Why're you bein' such a bitch?"

"Why do you care?" she countered swiftly.

"I don't."

"Really? Don't you?"

He looked at her coldly to meet her challenging, unwavering eyes. _There it was_, she thought, _defeat_. He returned his eyes to the ring. His jaw was clenched and his grip tightened around his drink. For a moment Lucy felt remorse, only because she knew how badly Spot could lose his temper.

But she reconsidered. He wouldn't dare try and hit her here, in front of all these older, larger men who would knock his lights out in her defense no matter how big his ego was. She had a strong feeling he wouldn't lay a hand on her _ever_, now that he'd spent a night in the refuge and backed out of a territory war for it.

So she immersed herself in the fight, until after four rounds an unexpected sucker punch made Ace hit the floor. He stayed on the ground, much to Spot's obvious dismay, and after three counts, his opponent threw up his arms in victory. A tiny part of Lucy felt delight but she kept it hidden, especially because as soon as they called the fight Spot's hold on his glass tightened so much it shattered in his hand, spilling beer and glass to their feet. She gulped and stepped aside.

"Aw," cooed Anna sadly. "He did so good though, right?"

Lucy nodded in feigned consolation. _Sucks for Brooklyn_, she thought.

"Someone's gonna get vibed tonight," announced Spot. He snapped his suspender straps and the elastic cracked against his hard chest. He turned to Anna, who had drunk her entire beer, and gave her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. "It was good seein' ya. Stop by Brooklyn when ya get a chance. You're more than welcome there anytime ya like."

Lucy couldn't help a surge of jealous anger that quivered in her stomach. Try as she might she knew it probably showed too.

"Aw, thanks Spot, you're a real doll," said Anna. "I'm gonna go find Ace…" She wandered towards the ring and weaved through the rest of the men.

Lucy watched helplessly and became nervous that she was alone suddenly. Spot had quickly been enveloped within the swarm of people. She didn't want to say goodbye, really, but she did want to somehow make it more obvious that she was not going to take this whole game lightly. She wasn't backing down, and she had a feeling he wasn't going to either – she knew how much Spot reveled in a challenge.

"Anna!" she screamed aimlessly. She searched for her red hair but could only find men's hats. She clenched her fists in frustration as she got pushed around carelessly by people trying to leaving the match.

She felt an intent, tight grip on her arm and winced as she turned around. Spot stood before her and dragged her wordlessly away. She almost fought back until he pointed to a small clearing where she saw Anna next to the ring holding a towel to Ace's face. Had he been watching her the whole time she thought he'd left?

"Thanks," she said flatly.

"You're welcome princess," he replied with disdain.

She rolled her eyes.

"Have a nice fuckin' day." His tone was childlike.

"Oh, I will, don't worry."

He laughed scornfully. "You really hate me that bad, don't ya?"

She stared icily back at him. Without breaking she replied, "Yes."

He laughed again, thoroughly enjoying himself like he was watching an actress. "I can tell."

"_Ugh._ Go away, Spot."

He was smirking, upturning the corner of his mouth like he was up to something.

She became nervous for a second.

He then grabbed both of her arms tightly, pulled her in without consent, and kissed her. She would have fought back but she was caught off-guard, unprotected and vulnerable. It was completely stolen and entirely unfair.

Funny thing was, though, she kissed him right back.

He pulled away, leaving her speechless. "Ya look good, Luce."

She gulped and searched for words.

He set her down and started to walk away before repeating, "Have a nice fuckin' day!"

She scoffed loudly and opened her mouth to unleash all the four-letters words running through her mind. But nothing came out. Nothing except a reluctant, blushing, angry smile. She had to laugh – only because she was so bewildered.

When she came to her senses she realized the challenge the lay before her: Spot won this round, only because he left without giving his opponent the proper chance to fight back. But she wasn't giving in so easily. There would be more chances to crush him – she was going to make damn sure of it.

The only thing that stood in her way now, and it pained her to realize it because when she did, she nearly gasped, was David. If there hadn't been sufficient reason for him to be mad already, there certainly was now: right after Spot kissed her, the first thing she felt was that inkling of addiction she had felt so long ago.

She was lost for rational thought. There was no reason to analyze it because she had a strong feeling what she was about to get herself into. She took a breath and closed her eyes. _Here it comes again._

**A/N:** Uh-oh! What's Lucy going to do now?! Oh the possibilities...

* * *


	8. Awake

When Lucy lay in her bed that evening she felt herself torn into a million pieces. _He kissed me_, she reminded herself. She wanted badly not to read too much into it. Her past experience had revealed a lot about his character and she knew that when he did things like that – kiss her in public, smirk the way he does, leave her speechless – it was about as deep as a puddle.

But damn that was a good kiss.

She sat up and twirled her hair around her finger. It was getting late, she could feel it, and she needed to at least try and get a good night's sleep. She leaned over to her nightstand and blew out the candle. _Ya look good, Luce_. It was the first thing she heard when her head hit the pillow.

Then, most unexpectedly, she heard footsteps coming up the staircase outside her apartment door. She sat up and relit the candle. Could it be him? _Oh god_, she thought, _how am I going to handle this one? _She wasn't smiling, though. Rather she was quite nervous. Her hands were shaking as she got up.

She waited to collect herself after the resounding knocks came. When she opened it she blinked and looked down and choked on her breath. "Oh Jesus, what're you doing?"

David was on one knee.

"Why're you doing that?"

He looked up. Her mouth fell open and time was passing at an increasingly slow rate. His eyes delved deeply into hers and they could have had a million emotions swimming in them that she couldn't figure out. What exactly was he doing on one knee?

"Get up," she said at once.

His face was somber. He didn't look like he was going to propose anymore and she quickly realized that the more she looked at him.

"I'd like to apologize," he said.

"You'd like to or you're goin' to?"

He stood up. He reached for her hands but she put them behind her back. "Lucy, I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have said what I said, it was horrible. I kept going over what I said to you and it just makes me feel…low."

She looked at the floor and moved one foot over the other, something she did when she was nervous. She had no words really. Couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Lucy." He stepped forward, bridging the gap between them but was still careful not to invade her space altogether. "I'm sorry for what I said to you."

She'd turned her head to the side to avoid his gaze but she couldn't do it anymore. She moved her eyes to his and there was more sincerity in them than she had remembered there being. She could tell he meant well and that he felt bad. "D'you really think that way about me?"

"How?"

"What was it you said? Oh. 'Disgusting.'"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not."

She wasn't sure it was the truth, but she nodded anyway.

He touched both her arms. "Will we be okay?"

She shrugged – she absolutely had no idea – and she didn't quite know why, but she moved into him and let him wrap his arms around her. It gave him some kind of resolution, it was obvious, and he tightened his grip. They moved from the doorway and sat side-by-side on her bed.

"I really want you to know that I feel bad about what happened physically that night," added David. "I just couldn't get it outta my head that going straight from an argument to _that_ was something Spot would do, ya know? It wasn't you, _per se_, it was…him, oddly enough."

Lucy snorted a laugh in spite of herself. "So instead of seeing me and my skirt you saw Spot? Hm, maybe I was wrong about you."

He laughed uneasily. "Obviously not what I meant, but I get that you get it."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling compelled to be forgiving. "It's okay."

He enjoyed the moment then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded and unfolded so many times that it was becoming flimsy. Lucy noticed it was the letter he had received a while ago from his uncle in Virginia.

"What is that, anyway? I forgot about it," she asked.

He took a deep breath. "Well, it's kinda why I came by, along with the apology, of course. My uncle works as an educator out there. He tutors kids. He's been writing my parents back and forth, and he's going out of town for a while. He wanted to know if I'd fill in for him with some of his students while he's away."

Lucy straightened up and felt her heart start thumping. Even though she still harbored some ill will towards him, her voice shook when she asked sadly, "You're leaving?"

He locked his eyes with hers. "Yeah."

"For how long?"

He scratched his head. "It's not really clear but from what it looks like now, I'd say a month or so."

Her eyes widened. "Oh god, that's a long time."

"Yeah, trust me, I've counted…"

She felt her shoulders slump but she couldn't exactly make herself cry. She would miss him, that was for sure. Even though they'd fought and he'd said some really hurtful things, the two of them still got along very well. If they weren't together the way that they were, she knew he would still be a best friend because he was genuinely a good person. She would miss him, and the more she realized it, the heavier it seemed to feel.

"This puts us in a weird place, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Well, that's the thing." He turned his body to face her and squared her in his direction. His face grew with excited emotion suddenly. "I don't wanna leave you alone for that long and it doesn't make sense for you to stay here by yourself."

Lucy quirked an eyebrow.

"Come with me. I can work it out perfectly, it'll be easy. You'll stay with me and I'm sure you can find work for that time if you really want to, otherwise you can just stay home while I'm at work. You might even like staying home and not working for a change. I would take care of us. I don't know if you've been to Virginia or not but it's gorgeous, I think you'd really like it. What d'you think?"

Lucy's face held a shocked kind of expression. She mimicked his grin because she had no clue how to even think about responding. She couldn't give an answer, so she simply said, "Virginia! No, I never been to Virginia."

"Yeah, it's not like New York or Boston or anything. It's not as populated, it's quieter, there's a lot of parks and trees and places to just go and think. I know you'd really like it, I'd love for you to be there with me." He curled a piece of hair behind her ear. "Not to mention, we'd have a place just to ourselves. We wouldn't be bothered with any 'a the nonsense and bullshit that goes on here all the time."

She wanted to object – she kind of liked the nonsense and bullshit that occurred.

"It'd just be you and me. I would love it if we could do that together, you know? We'd be alone and happy, how comforting does that sound?"

She could tell how badly hurt he would be if she had turned him down. His eyes were so genuinely content that she couldn't find it in her heart to say anything that would break that feeling at that point in time. "Virginia," she repeated. _Is not New York City_, she thought. Nothing could replace New York. There was a reason she'd come here and decided to stay. This was her home. It was busy, polluted, crowded, loud and dangerous. It was her life.

"It's okay, you take all the time you want deciding," he said understandingly. "No rush."

"Okay, yeah."

"Yeah, you'll go? Or yeah, you'll take time?"

She breathed a chuckle. "Yeah, I'll take time."

"Okay…Well, maybe don't take all the time you want…" he slipped. "I'm leaving in a week or two."

"I'm sorry?" She choked.

He cringed. "Yeah, sorry for the short notice."

She shrugged nervously but didn't want to flat out say no. She looked at him and his expression. She tried for a moment to envision the life David wanted to have there with her – traditional and structured, in which bedtimes were in place and rules were followed. He would go to work and she would make sure he was happy. That would be her job, wouldn't it? Maintaining that balance? But he had such strong feelings for her that he didn't possibly mean it all to be as suffocating as she thought it could be…

She didn't want to turn him down – she'd reacted rather quickly in all honesty. So she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

He pulled her quickly to stay that close to him. He put his hands behind her neck and kissed her deeply. She reciprocated, thankful that this time it wasn't riddled with confused emotions. She was hardly as assertive, though, and not quite as willing to snap to it like last time. She knew by the way he was kissing her that there was genuine emotion behind his actions.

She moved so that she lay on her back, pulling him on top of him. After some minutes she slowly unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and he pulled it off. He wasn't as aggressive as Spot, she noted, but he was so much more considerate. Like his eyes, there was sincerity. She couldn't help but enjoy it – rejecting those kinds of feelings seemed illogical and silly.

David kissed her neck and her collarbone, and he had no problem with any zippers this time. He had no problem with resisting anything, and it took Lucy by surprise. He had always been the one stopping her from going too far.

As she wriggled herself free from her clothes altogether and nestled herself under the covers with David on top of her, she had to stop and wonder what was bringing on the sudden urge to finally seal the deal. Why now, of all times?

David was careful to make sure she was comfortable before he got to it. She nodded wordlessly. She couldn't very well stop him now. Getting to this point had already taken them months; what was the point in stopping? So he started going, pressing himself into her, and she easily fit into the rhythm of it. He was so different than Spot was at this; in the absence of spontaneity and throw-down, there was consideration in a way that was humbling. He was different in so many ways that she could go on for days listing them.

Then suddenly she heard Spot's voice in her head. _I can still feel you._

She opened her eyes. David's lips were on her neck so he couldn't see her face. But there in that moment, right before David finished, she knew something wasn't quite right. Something was uncomfortable, it didn't feel perfect for her, the way she thought David felt. Something was off, disconnected. There was something missing. And if she was being really honest, it almost felt wrong.

_What – was – this?_ She quickened her breath as it all came hurtling to a finish. She gripped the sheet so tight that her knuckles split and she bit her lip for the final moments. She closed her eyes and listened to her own heartbeat. David finished and rolled over to his side. Not to upset him she smiled lightly. They said nothing but she could tell he was happy – infinitely happy to be with her in this way.

She felt around blindly for her nightgown and pulled it over her head and nestled into him again, ready to rest. After several minutes she looked over and noticed him sleeping already. Sound asleep, while she was wide awake. If she had been confused before, she was so much more now. She knew first-hand how sex changed things. Emotions were inevitable, no matter who they affected, and because she and David already had feelings for each other, the future suddenly seemed nerve-wracking and riddled with questions she wasn't sure she had the capacity to answer.

Could she try and figure it out? Before too much time passed? She took another look at David. _No_, she decided in that moment. Now was not the time to get into it. Not right after they'd finally slept together, after the proposal to go to Virginia came up, and after the sudden surge of doubt that cast a shadow over her now plagued mind. She'd probably be up until dawn. But tonight it was David's turn to sleep.

* * *

A/N: What'll happen now to Lucy and David?! Review and I'll update -- lickity split :P


	9. Lemons

The next day was a blur. David had left that morning and she had yet to give him an answer. She didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want to think about it, and all she wanted to do was escape her mind for a little while. That was precisely where Anna came in – all she had to do was tell her she needed to go out for the evening and it was as if out of thin air she'd already had plans.

"Not a problem!" she said. "Ace tells me about this place in Brooklyn that I'm always welcome to. I think he's gettin' impatient, to be honest, and so am I." She giggled. "If you know what I mean."

Lucy busted a laugh. "Yeah, I get it."

"I had a feeling you would."

"Well, that sounds like a good idea," said Lucy, seeing Spot in the back of her mind. "I need to give my brain a rest."

"Yeah, some boys're good for that…" her mind wandered. "But maybe Spot'll be there, ya know? He's so gorgeous."

Lucy smiled inwardly and pressed her lips together. "Yep. Sure is."

It had gone so quickly. Before Lucy knew it she was adding charcoal to her eyes and rouge to her lips, and she and Anna were walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. _I won't think about Virginia tonight_, she told herself once they got to the neighboring borough. _I won't think about what I did last night either._

Then suddenly they were only a block from Sonny's and Lucy's mind was free. Her stomach did a quick somersault. She was unsure if Spot knew she was coming, but she was there whether or not he liked it. This little game they had going, it wasn't going to go away just because he was in Brooklyn and she in Manhattan. She didn't know what her intentions were for the night – all she knew was that Anna had come up with the plans and she was willing to oblige. If nothing else it was thrilling just to try and make Spot squirm again; that was priceless.

Sonny's was remarkably similar to Tibby's. It wasn't as nice, because to Lucy everything in Brooklyn paled in comparison to Manhattan. It was crowded, though, with an array of people. There was a bar and hanging on the countertops were grown men with mistresses their age (Lucy cringed), older men who clearly had nothing else but the bar to go to (she thought she saw their delivery driver from work there), and of course young people who she assumed were somehow affiliated with newsies.

They arrived and Anna was quick to find all the possibilities in store for them. She pointed to a band in the corner, a table of poker, a cute bartender, the list was endless. Lucy nodded dutifully but only half paid attention. Her attention was elsewhere; she was anxious to let the games begin.

"D'you think a lot of these boys are newsies?" asked Anna.

Lucy surveyed quickly. She definitely recognized some of the mugs. "Yeah. Where's your boy?"

Anna giggled at the title and nodded towards the end of the bar. She dragged her over there and greeted Ace with a peck on the cheek. He was still completely enamored of her, Lucy could tell. _Be careful_, she felt like screaming. _These boys are trouble_. Instead she held her tongue and smiled and chatted like the good friend that she was, even though her presence was hardly appreciated or acknowledged.

"Don't expect me to buy you a beer this time," came a familiar voice.

Lucy smirked and got the smile out before she turned around. "I wasn't planning on askin' for one."

Spot stretched his arm over the bar. He twisted his body towards her, holding out a bill for the bartender to come round. "What brings ya back?"

_The party, dumbass_, she thought. She reined it in and answered, "Anna."

They both turned to find Ace scooting into the corner with his barstool and dragging Anna "reluctantly" onto his lap. Lucy sighed and turned back around. She tried to avoid his eyes and smoothed over her dress and adjusted her hair. She noticed he took a quick glance at her hair – she had tried creating waves as a little experiment. She knew how he was oddly taken by her hair when it curled.

"Come on!" shouted Spot across the bar. The restaurant was busy and there were few bartenders as it was. It seemed highly unlikely that Mr. Brooklyn himself was being overlooked, though. She reveled in the tiny bit of spite.

She then did something rather brave and uncharacteristic of her; she adjusted her dress so it dipped well below the normal neckline, showing enough cleavage to get attention yet not enough to be considered lascivious. She squirmed her way into a place at the bar, and Spot did a quick double-take. Sure enough, when the bartender glanced in their direction he nodded to Lucy and made his way over.

"Touche," he said, though his tone was insulated with sarcasm.

She tossed a coin the bartender's way and collected a mug of beer that she really had no intention of enjoying in the first place. Spot stared at her, seeing how he could best call her bluff. Lucy cautiously took a sip. Truth be told, she hated the taste of beer. But she sucked it up and took a hefty gulp, mentally getting past the dry, diluted taste that made her think of bums on the street and her own father's obsession with the drink.

"You don't even like beer, do ya?" he guessed, hitting the nail on the head.

She shook her head. "I love it."

He scoffed.

"I know you like it, though," she added. "Want some?"

"No thanks, I'll get my own."

"Good luck…" she muttered before forcing down another swig. She sat there on the barstool, ankles crossed like a lady, daintily sipping on her drink. Spot stayed there for a few more minutes, unsuccessful at getting a drink the entire time. They said nothing and only exchanged glances every now and then.

Lucy surveyed the rest of the restaurant, finding these people now rather amusing – a couple was drunkenly parading around the dance floor; a serious game of poker was being played by boys no older than Les and yet they all consumed pints of ale; and Anna and Ace were speaking so close to each other they might as well have been kissing.

"I'm done tryin'," declared Spot.

A part of Lucy wanted him to stay. "Sorry." She pushed out her lower lip.

He breathed a dry laugh and the grin faded quickly. "Enjoy the rest 'a your night."

She watched him go back to where he came from, which was a table across the room with two boys and three very pretty girls. She couldn't help it – she felt a twinge of loneliness. He seemed to be close with them; they conversed easily and excitedly. One of the girls – a blonde, ironically – batted her eyelashes and offered him the rest of her drink. He accepted. Lucy sighed and when she took a sip of her own drink, she promptly spit it back into the glass, realizing she didn't have to pretend anymore.

"Not much of a drinker, are yeh?"

She turned to find a skinny, orange-haired man probably in his twenties suddenly very close to her. He looked like Molly's long lost son – his orange beard took up most of his face.

"Oh, uh," she stammered nervously. "Not really, no."

"That's alright, neither was I when I was your age!" He laughed heartily and held up his glass mug to toast it to nobody. "Now, how old are yeh exactly? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

Lucy cringed and felt no choice but to drink up. She shook her head and found her solace in the next sip of ale.

"Oh! Lemme guess, lemme guess – sixteen."

Lucy feigned a laugh. She smiled politely but it was obvious how forced it was. This made no difference to the man, though. He celebrated his own triumph by helping himself to a chug of his brew. Lucy looked around the room uncomfortably as he did so. Her eyes landed on Spot and as soon as they did, he flicked his gaze elsewhere.

"I'm Lonny, by the way!" the man announced.

"Oh. Hi." She went to extend her hand but took it back.

"No, no, c'mon now, don't ferget yeh manners!" He reached towards her and took her hand, shaking it aggressively. "What's yer name then?"

"Lucy."

"Pleasure to meet yeh, Lucy! Now tell me…" He leaned in close, closer than what was comfortable, and placed his hand on her shoulder. His thumb rubbed the skin of her collarbone in a way that made her want to throw up.

"That's okay," she said calmly. She was afraid to set him off.

"No, tell me Lucy, are yeh from Ireland? Ya look Irish, yeh got any of it in yeh?"

She could tell where this line was going; had she said no, he would have asked if she'd like a bit of Irish in her – literally – and had she said yes, he would have been so pleased at their connection he would never let her go. Either way, she was preparing to execute physical force to the nose and groin if need be…

Then a bizarre sort of rescue appeared out of nowhere. A server stood before them. In his hand was a bright yellow lemon. Lucy furrowed her eyes.

"From the table in the corner, miss," said the server.

She looked to Spot's table. He was in the middle of talking but made a point to look at her, wink, and go back to his conversation. She stared at the fruit, puzzled, but decided anything was better than sitting there with Lonny. She accepted the lemon and hopped down from her barstool.

"I'm sorry Lonny…I'm spoken for," she said, even though her relationship with David was up in the air. She smacked herself for thinking of him and quickly dodged those thoughts. She made her way in the direction of Spot's table.

When he noticed her, she shook her head, a half grin on her face, and tossed the lemon in her hand. He smirked coyly and got up from the table, disappearing easily from his friends. He walked ahead of her and she followed. He opened a door to a backroom and Lucy paused for a moment, reminding herself what happened the last time they were in a secluded closet together.

He turned back around and read her face perfectly. He stood in the doorway, facing her from about ten feet away. He mouthed, "It's fine," and something inside her willed her to move forward.

She was relieved to find the room had a light and it was the liquor storage area. It was much bigger than the closet and this way she could see what they were doing and was better able to block any unwanted contact. Spot hoisted himself onto a barrel.

Lucy held up the lemon. "Care to explain this?"

"In a second. How's Lonny treatin' ya?" He grinned.

She couldn't help the volume of her voice. "Did you send him over there?!"

"No, I swear," he chuckled, "that was just dumb luck."

She hurled the lemon at his chest.

"Ow!"

"That was disgusting. I can still smell his beer on me from his breath."

"I wanted to let it go on longer but it was gettin' hard to watch."

"I'm sure you didn't have any problems watchin' but thanks for sparing mercy. _Ugh_."

"Well, look, if you'se so mad at me why don't ya just go back out there?" He pointed to the door, tempting her.

She understood the challenge but didn't falter. Instead she took a step forward and rested her arm on a nearby shelf. "Why'd you come up to the bar when there were servers floatin' around who could take your order from the table?"

He dropped his arm in defeat of his previous request. He sighed. "Why d'you care I was at the bar?"

"I don't."

"Don't you?"

His eyes were appropriately devious and gorgeous at the same time and she found herself dry for words. She straightened up and picked up the lemon that had rolled to her feet. "So, really, what's this about?"

He stood up and took it from her. He took out a small knife from his pocket and cut the fruit in half, then in fourths, then in eighths. She watched curiously. He searched the shelf before him briefly before landing on a salt shaker. His fingers danced around the opposite shelf until he pulled a full bottle of whiskey and cracked it open.

"Spot! What're you doin'?"

"What?"

"It's one thing to steal bread, it's quite another to steal liquor, these guys'll kill ya."

He rolled his eyes. "Relax, Luce. You ain't fun anymore."

She popped her hip defiantly. "That's not true!"

"I know the owner. Sound bettah?"

"I guess."

"Alright." He turned to face her. "Gimme your hand." Without waiting he reached forward and took her arm. He licked his finger and wiped it between her thumb and index finger.

"What the hell…"

He then took the salt shaker and poured it so a decent amount of grains stuck to her skin. He took a slice of lemon and thrust it into her other hand, and let slip a brief laugh to himself.

"You're kinda makin' me nervous, Spot…" she said quietly, forgetting to keep her guards up.

He looked at her and smiled. "Am I?"

"No."

"Right. Stay still."

He then turned back to grab the bottle of whiskey. He stared into her for a moment before she could recoil. He took her one hand to his mouth and licked the skin that was coated in salt. Lucy felt her entire nervous system go into shock and she closed her mouth quickly, as it had fallen open. He took a swig of the whiskey, took her other hand and sucked the lemon from her grasp.

Lucy's heart rate spiked. She felt her knees shake and she feared she would turn to putty right there. She bit her lip as he let go of her wrist and sucked the rest of the juices from the slice of fruit. She was speechless, watching him in a twisted kind of enchantment.

"Mhm." He held up a lemon slice. "Wanna try?"

She caught her breath. She gulped and fluttered her eyelids. She did a couple of baby steps in her place before looking at him, wanting so badly to say, _Yes, and we might as well get a whole crate load of lemons while we're at it_.

But she straightened herself up and met his challenging gaze. "I see what you're doin'."

"What's that?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Don't play dumb, I know what you're tryin' to pull here." She started to back away despite her wobbly legs that had gone soft and gummy. "Well played, Conlon."

He tossed the lemon aside and got back up on the barrel of ale. He wasn't going anywhere.

Lucy had her hand on the doorknob, ready to open it.

"Afraid David'll find out?" he suddenly said.

She looked at him nervously. "How d'you—"

"People talk," he interrupted abruptly and stared at her blankly, strained.

She couldn't exactly figure out the expression on his blank face, for usually it had some kind of extreme emotion. She took her hand away. "Alright. I'll try one."

She walked towards him assertively. She grabbed his arm, licked his hand directly and poured salt onto it. She put a lemon slice into his other hand and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. Before uncapping it she said to him bluntly, "I am not gonna kiss you."

He hopped down, wedging himself tightly between the barrel and her body. "Fair enough."

"Yeah."

"Wouldn't want the Walkin' Mouth roughin' me up, now would I?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Why're you with him anyway?"

"What d'you mean?"

"He's boring."

"No, he's not."

"I'd rather watch dust fall—"

She held up her hand. "Why d'you care?"

He stared at her, and she prompted him to answer until he said with defeat, "Just lick the salt, Lucy."

She took the bitter taste to her tongue, winced through the swig of whiskey, and with her fingers clutched around his wrist, went for the lemon. As she sucked the citrus flavor, his fingers grazed her cheeks and sent tingles to her face. His other hand fell to her waist and held her to him possessively, and she hardly noticed it. She'd closed her eyes, bent on draining the fruit of every last kick of flavor it had. She pulled back and took a breath. When she did, his face was alarmingly close to hers, closer than she had anticipated and she was fearful she would lose control and break the rule she'd set not even a minute ago.

"Hello," she squeaked out, noticing now the tight hold he had on her.

"Hello." He smiled the way she both feared and loved at the same time.

"I told you I'm not kissin' you."

"Little late for that, don't'cha think?" He held up his hand and laughed, licking the remnants of salt that she had missed.

"I didn't kiss _you_. Obviously. It doesn't count."

"You kissed my hand, though."

"No, I sucked the lemon."

"With your mouth."

"Well, I had to get it somehow."

"From my hand." He smirked.

"What…?"

"You had to get the lemon and in doin' so you put your lips on me."

Her cheeks suddenly caught on fire. "That really doesn't count."

"Doesn't it?" He leaned towards her.

She started to back away but his grasp held her there.

His eyebrows cinched for the briefest of moments. "Am I still corruptin' you? Would you still blame me for doin' bad things?"

She sighed. "You can't be corrupted if you don't wanna be."

"Ya sure about that?"

She lingered there for a moment. He brought his hand to her neck and while he started to pull her in for a kiss, she resisted and took a step back. His face was in a state of disbelief for a second.

"I'm not gonna kiss you," she reiterated. "That lemon doesn't count either."

He opened his mouth and paused before saying slowly, "Didn't you already kiss me the other day?"

"_You_ kissed _me_. I had no control over that. That still doesn't count."

He rolled his eyes and made to go in again, disregarding her. She pulled away though. He scoffed.

It took all her strength, but she carefully backed away and got to the door again. When she gripped the doorknob she took a moment to look at him and try not to chuckle. His gaze stared back, tempting and anxious to figure out her next move.

When she wouldn't back down, he straightened up and said reluctantly, "You win this round, don't you?"

She smiled. "I win this round."

* * *

**A/N:** Haha, I really couldn't help myself :)


	10. Break

If Lucy was going to be completely honest, she had to admit that she thought about lemons more than she thought about Virginia. Every time she caught herself forgetting about David, she cringed and slapped herself. Shereally had to think about Virginia. Well, rather, she had to think about what she was going to say to David.

"Yoo-hoo, Sully…"

She fluttered back to reality and saw Blink waving his hand in front of her face. She smiled and shook her head, getting up from the park bench.

"Lookin' a little dazed there!" he teased.

"Nah, my brain's just workin' too hard."

"_Psh._ That's no fun." He ruffled his hand on her hair, messing up the braids she had put in place.

"Blink! That took me a long time to do by myself…" she pouted. She fished out a small hand mirror and inspected the damage.

"Ha-ha!" Blink took both hands and screwed up her hair even more relentlessly.

"Ugh, you boys have no appreciation for hair." She sighed dramatically and untied the ribbons of her hopeless braids. They started walking casually around the block.

"So, you obviously heard about David?" he asked, and his tone was less comical.

"Yeah…"

"Are you goin' with him?"

She hesitated. She unknotted her hair and let it fall freely behind her. She stuck her hands in her pockets and kicked a rock in front of her. "I don't know, Blink."

He followed the rock and kicked it ahead of them again, prompting her to do the same. "You don't wanna go to Virginia for a month, do ya?"

She kicked the rock. "It's a whole mess of things, really. I don't know where to begin."

"Virginia's nice, or so I heah…" he lunged and tapped the rock with his shoe. "But it sure ain't New York."

"That's what I'm sayin'. That and so much more, ya know? It's not like I wouldn't miss him. I would. It's just…" she paused to concentrate on locating the pebble and furthering their game.

"Can I be honest with ya real quick?" he interrupted and stepped in front of her. "Don't go. I can tell ya don't want to."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes." His tone was blunt and she made a surprised face. "Sorry, didn't mean to offend. But I know you pretty good, Sully. I think you'd be miserable. Now don't get me wrong, I like Dave and all, we'se good friends too. But you wanna know what I pictured when I heard about him invitin' you along?"

She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. "What?"

"You starin' out the window for the bettah half 'a the day when he's out workin'. Does that sound like you? Nah." He messed up her hair again.

She scratched her fingers together and crossed her arms. There were other reasons too, though, that she didn't want to go. There were reasons why she wanted to keep herself here. She knew there were. One huge one in particular.

"Not to mention you'd miss me like crazy," joked Blink. He slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into a loose headlock.

She laughed sincerely and wrestled to get out. "How could I stand bein' away from you for a whole month, Blink?"

"Believe me, you couldn't."

That evening as Lucy made her way to do the unavoidable, she found she had been biting down on her lip for the whole day. She'd practically tried sewing herself up altogether because she didn't want to do this. All she could do was picture David crushed.

"Why do I feel like I'm about to go break his heart?" she mumbled, looking up at the Jacobs' apartment building from the street.

Jack patted her back encouragingly. "Man up."

She glanced at him.

"You'se a Sullivan after all."

She sighed painfully. "I just can't be Mrs. David Jacobs in Virginia."

"No one expects ya to."

She looked to the fire escape near David's bedroom where he was nowhere in sight. "Yes, they do."

Lucy took a deep breath and headed for the building. Jack followed behind as if making sure she wouldn't back out and give up. He was whistling casually and she assumed he was probably trying to take the edge off. It was no help, though, really. By the time they got to the third floor she was downright irritated.

"Shoulda smoked a cigarette down there," he said as they ascended the last floor. "Ya sure you don't wanna have one right now? I got half 'a one left in my pocket somewhere."

"I'm okay." She knocked on the door.

"Big smiles now!" teased Jack, putting on a cheesy grin and nudging her.

Lucy rolled her eyes.

Sarah came to answer and opened it with as big a smile as Jack's. Lucy did a quick mental somersault and gave Sarah a hug, stepping inside the apartment. Esther and Meyer were setting the table and Les was sitting in the window frame pulling a yo-yo up and down. Lucy looked around the entire room. David was nowhere she could see. She felt her pulse start to quicken and her stomach knotting in a way that made her sick.

"We're not quite done getting dinner together," said Esther. "Why don't you guys go and sit down while you wait? Lucy, I think David's finishing up some reading in his room." She smiled warmly at her, in a way that made her want to cry. She didn't want Esther to think of her any differently. She gave a weak smile.

David was bent over his desk reading Shakespeare. He looked like he was exhausted, like he hadn't slept in a couple of days. His face was paler than usual and he wore only his white shirt, letting the straps of his suspenders fall lazily down the sides of his pants. He looked up at the sight of her in the doorway.

He smiled. "Hey."

"Hi." She leaned herself into the doorframe.

"You okay?"

She shrugged and walked to the desk, leaning herself against it. She took one hand in another and twiddled her thumbs about each other. She felt him looking at her with a mixture of worry and anticipation, and she was too nervous to even fake small-talk.

"Was work okay? You seem upset."

"Oh, ya know…" she stammered. "Work's work."

He nodded, giving up. He got to his feet and stretched out his back. Sighing, he gave her a peck on the cheek as he walked by, as if they had been doing it for years. He closed the door quietly, leaving it open a crack. Lucy felt the room get ten times smaller than its actual size and her hands went cold and clammy. She shakily pushed herself up onto the desk and let her feet dangle in front of her.

"So." David pulled his chair to face her. "I'm goin' to the train station tomorrow to get the tickets."

She looked at him speechlessly.

"Am I getting one ticket or two?" He was leaning himself on his elbows, his hands clasped together so tight that his knuckles were white and the muscles were taut in his forearms. Though his tone was casual Lucy could sense otherwise from his body language alone.

She took a piece of hair in front of her face and started twisting it around. "Why d'you want me to go with you anyway? Won't I just be a burden in your work?"

His face fell. "Well, no, not really. I'd miss you is all. A month is a long time to be away, and I thought…"

She gulped down a beating lump in her throat. She yanked on her hair hard and was afraid to look him in the eyes. It was then, in the pause of his sentence, that she for some reason had a vivid flashback of sleeping with him and her face flushed burning hot.

He sat back and tried to loosen up. "I just thought it would be a good way to spend time together. I really have strong feelings for you, Luce. I need you there in Virginia with me to keep me company and to keep me happy. Is that so bad?"

She brushed the hair out of her face with her palm and finally spoke. "It's New York, ya know? I feel like I just got here."

"You've been here for almost seven months," he said bluntly.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Sorry, it's just…How much time d'you need?"

"Well, what exactly are you waiting for me to do? What is it you're wanting me to rush into?"

He exhaled deeply and got up, pacing the small space of his room. "I'm not asking you to do any favors for me." He rested his arms above him at the window frame, staring through the glass with his back towards her. "I want you in Virginia. New York is…Well, it's New York. Too much happens here. You need to slow down every so often, know what I'm saying?"

"What've you got against New York all of a sudden?" Lucy got to her feet and there was defensiveness in her voice.

"It's not New York, it's…" he trailed, leaving the end of the sentence like a cliffhanger.

Before Lucy thought on it the words came out. "It's me, isn't it?"

He turned around and looked at her unfaltering gaze.

"It's not New York you're talkin' about, it's me. You want me to slow down. You want me to leave. With you. You don't think I can take care 'a myself here so you wanna keep me somewhere else. Isn't that it?"

He said nothing but his expression was rising in tension and his jaw was starting to clench. She could tell she was starting to get in the right direction, digging out the truth behind his words.

"I can take care 'a myself, David. I don't need you to watch over me."

"I'm not trying to patronize you—"

"Then why're you so worried?" she interrupted loudly. "Why're you so afraid to leave me alone? What, is it that you don't trust me or something?"

His face was blank.

"You don't trust me," she stated with clarity. "You don't trust me to be alone. You think you'll lose me. You think _he's_ gonna come and snatch me back up again, don't you?"

"Lucy, stop—"

"No, David, that's it!"

He walked forward and stopped inches from her body. "I want you to stop where you're going. Alright? Just stop it. What's so bad about wanting to take you to Virginia? What's so horrible about me wanting you around? Yes, I think it would be good for you to get a change of scenery. If you come to Virginia, if you be with me, you'll be happy."

"Why d'you think going away will suddenly make us happier?"

"Because I need…" he huffed, finding the right words. "I need something I know I can't lose to anyone else."

Lucy unclenched her jaw and stared into his dark, deep blue eyes that were fearful as they were determined. That's precisely what they were – bound by fear of losing her to Spot. It suddenly wasn't about her happiness anymore; it was about his. Being with her made him happy and secure, even if she wasn't entirely committed to him.

"You want me in Virginia so I can be what you want me to be." She gulped down a difficult breath. "You don't see me at all."

"That's not true."

She shook her head. She could feel their relationship breaking apart before her eyes. "If you knew me you'd know I don't want the life you want. I'm not like you, David. I never will be. I'm not used to stability and studying and school. I'm not logical or rational – I'm messy and emotional and dramatic and I don't care about getting in trouble. I'm not perfect and I don't want to be. It can't work this way…"

He was silent for a moment until he suddenly said, "You're asking for another heartbreak."

"What d'you mean?"

"You've been comparing me and Spot all along, haven't you?"

"David…"

He shook his head and emotions started to liven up his entire being. He paced a small circle quickly before unleashing a barrage of pent-up thoughts. "You know, I don't get how you still hold on to him when I'm here – right here – standing in front of you, trying so hard to make you see that he's no good. That it's me you deserve to be with. It's me you can trust. It's me you can depend on. Goddamn, Lucy, I'm so much better for you than he is and I can't understand for the life of me why it's so hard for you to see that!"

She suddenly felt incredibly nervous – it was too much for her too fast.

"No, I'm not the type a person who always has a trick up his sleeve or a way to stick in your mind even if you don't want me there. I'm sorry I'm deeper than that. I'm sorry my words don't stay with you because you think they mean something they don't. I'm not Spot and I never will be, and thank God for that!"

"I'm not askin' you to be Spot!"

"Yes, you are! Lucy, you call his name out in your sleep and when you look at me sometimes I can tell you wish I were him. You don't think I see you but I see a lot more than you think."

Lucy sighed loudly, childlike and temperamental.

David continued. "I'm frustrated because what better person are you gonna end up with, huh? I'm stable – and trustworthy – and I'm there for you. What more could you possibly want?" He stood with his arms out, his chest breathing harshly.

It was then that Lucy realized that what had held them together was the happy mistake that David had caught her when she fell from Spot's arms, and he was undeniably happy to be that person. What he gave her – everything he had – was only a temporary comfort until she'd glued herself back together. But she was whole now and what he gave her wasn't permanent. It was breakable and finite, in a way that David could never see coming. What had kept them together, it wasn't attraction, love, or desire. It wasn't any of those things. They were simply disconnected, and it was only a matter of time before the ticking clock of their relationship finally stopped.

He dropped his head and scratched his neck. "I don't know what else to say to make you understand."

"You shouldn't 'make' me do anything," she shot back immaturely.

David clenched his jaw, visibly hurt.

She crossed her arms and tried to redeem herself. "I know you're a good person. I'm not choosing him…" She could hardly trust her own words, though. "I'm just sorry I can't be the person you deserve to give everything to."

David looked up and when he did, he understood what was happening here.

Lucy shook her head. "I don't want to hurt you but I can't go to Virginia with you." She couldn't bear looking into his eyes and she had nothing left to say. They'd left it all there in the crushing space between them, in that cramped, uncomfortable bedroom where everything was suddenly real and honest and painful.

David crossed his arms and straightened up, in what Lucy assumed was an attempt to hide his hurt feelings. He gulped loudly and said in a clear voice, "I can't believe I'm losing you to him."

"You're not losing me to him, he doesn't have my heart."

"Sometimes I'm not so sure about that."

Without giving her a chance to respond he turned his back to her once again and rested his arms against the window glass.

She at least wanted to have a better goodbye. This was the image she was going to have of him for a while now – his back to her and his words of disbelief and faithlessness.

When she knew she couldn't take any more, she opened the door. The rest of the Jacobs were sitting at the table quietly starting to eat their meal. Jack hadn't touched his food, though. He was watching the door to the bedroom all along, and when he saw the painful look on his sister's face, he backed up his chair at once and stood up. Without saying a word, and without looking at anyone else, even though the entire Jacobs family directed their glances at the two of them, he motioned for Lucy to come with him. She kept her eyes down and her face hidden.

Jack opened the apartment door and remained close behind Lucy as she descended the staircase. It took her what felt like ages, and she was unsure if this was a conscious action or not, because as soon as she made it to the very last step, she paused and tried to make a memory of the apartment building – she wasn't so sure she would ever see it again.

* * *

A/N: They should call Spot a gnat instead...he's always there somehow! Never goes away! Alright, this note probably didn't fit the tone of the chapter. Thoughts are greatly appreciated!


	11. Flames

"I have a surprise for you," said Anna.

A mischievous smile spread into her pale cheeks as she yanked Lucy's head up from the table of an unknown restaurant in an area of Manhattan Lucy had never known existed until tonight. Her head was heavy and tired, and the few drinks that she and Anna had consumed the day after she'd broken up with David were starting to take its toll.

"What is it?" groaned Lucy. She held herself up by her arm leaning onto the table with all her strength.

Anna quickly got up from the table and skipped to the door of the restaurant. Lucy felt her head do a quick spin. She stared at the two empty glasses of ale she'd drunk. She had no idea how she'd consumed them both in their entirety. She still hated the taste. "We'll wallow this tonight. Drinks on me!" Anna had said to her earlier that day. Lucy nodded. That was why.

Anna reappeared with Ace in tow. Lucy let fly a loud curse and she straightened up, ignoring the men who'd looked her way at the sound of such language. As Ace stood aimlessly in the doorway, Anna scurried back to the table.

"You remember Spot, right?" she asked.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "You've no idea but go ahead."

"I invited him because Ace said he mentioned you. I think he might be interested!"

"Ha!" Lucy couldn't help but interject.

"You might feel better if you just, I dunno, lose your head for a night. Mess around with Spot, I'm sure he won't mind." She winked.

Lucy stared, wanting to burst out laughing. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. Humoring Anna wouldn't be so bad, really. It was quite amusing playing these head games with people sometimes. For a moment she knew how Spot must have felt.

They left the restaurant and it was dark outside, and Lucy counted in her head how long she and Anna had been inside drinking. She wandered around the street block aimlessly, observing how different everything was now. Here, in this area, were homeless people keeping warm by a fire in an alley, the loud shattering of a glass came from a nearby pub, and a couple of well-dressed men making their way cautiously into a brothel. These places and people were starting to wear on her, and when she turned her head in no particular direction, there Spot was in the middle of it all.

Leaning against a street sign – the words CONNOR ST. written in black – his ankles were crossed casually as he tilted his neck downward. He held a cigarette between his lips and held a match to it. He coolly tossed the match aside and blew a cloud of smoke into the air above him. He fit the scenery so well but to her he stuck out like a sudden burst of flames.

Lucy exhaled and shook her head. Anna nudged her and pointed to him animatedly. Ace scoffed to himself, looking away. Lucy wondered if he remembered who exactly she was from what felt like so long ago.

Nevertheless, she started making her way towards Spot in a cool and collected manner. She hated to admit it but the alcohol really was making her more confident, and she knew this was an advantage whenever she was around him.

He took drags from his cigarette now and then, oblivious to her approaching. When he caught sight of her ten feet away, he looked at her with his silvery blue eyes and the corner of his lip spread into a crooked half-grin.

"Someone's been drinkin'," he guessed at once.

She stopped in her tracks. "What's that mean?"

"You'se an easy drunk to call from a mile away." He adjusted so that his shoulder leaned against the pole. "Don't worry, I find it charmin'."

She rolled her eyes and hit his chest. "Don't be an ass. I'm not drunk."

He rubbed his wound. "You're kind of a bitch too."

"Fuck you, man."

"Is that an invitation?"

"No, as a matter of fact."

"'No, as a matter of fact'," he mimicked.

She held up her middle finger. She messed her hair clumsily and looked around casually. When her eyes returned to him she realized he'd been staring at her, an amused expression on his face, like he was entertained.

"You crack me up sometimes," he said, smiling.

"Well, good, I'm glad. Maybe you can stop actin' like you got a stick up your ass then." She realized what she'd said seconds after she'd said it and she laughed inside her head, patting herself on the back for it.

He chuckled and took a final drag on his cigarette, stamping it out in the dirt. He took his hand and messed up her hair, much to her annoyance. "Like I said: charmin'." He moved past her, walking towards Anna and Ace.

Lucy took a moment to fix her hair and turned around to walk after him. Spot asked what the plans were, to which Anna and Ace simply shrugged and continued mildly groping each other. Lucy made a puzzled face, feeling uncomfortable standing next to Spot and watching the two of them at the same time.

"I think I need to drink some more," said Ace, belching.

Anna winced. "Maybe not."

Ace shot her a stare and she cringed. Spot laughed coolly and suggested the two of them head to another pub.

"Well, what're you guys gonna do?" asked Anna.

Lucy held her palms upward and shrugged. She could think of a thing or two she wanted to do in their absence, and her in tipsy state of mind she had a feeling she'd have no problem following through with them. Spot slung his arm around her neck, pulling her close.

"I think this one's had too much for one night," he decided condescendingly. "I'm gonna make sure she gets 'tucked in' alright."

Anna broke a giddy smile but Lucy, offended, hit Spot's stomach and wriggled herself free.

"I can tuck myself just fine!" she argued.

Ace busted a laugh and spun Anna around, ready to leave, but he made a point to yell to Lucy, "Have fun tonight sweetheart!"

She muttered under her breath to him, knowing he'd already formed a judgment of her, had one not already been in place. She turned back to Spot and the same kind of amused expression was on his face.

"I'm not that drunk, Conlon," she declared.

"Alright, whatevah you say. I just wanna make sure you get tucked in." He leaned towards her, his hand resting low on her hip. "That so bad?"

Lucy felt her nerves rake through her body as soon as he touched her, all too similar to the way she'd felt whenever he touched her before. It was always difficult for her to put into words: it was like whenever she was in his presence all those nerves endings would (without her knowing) press directly beneath her skin and when he grabbed her, touched her, even grazed her, they would vibrate in a way that was almost painful. She had no control over it.

She stuttered and had to bite her lip. "There'll be no 'tucking.' Why d'you make everything so dirty?"

He laughed. "Have you evah met me?"

Though she rolled her eyes and tried to come off as careless as possible, she knew the opposite somehow showed on her face. She shook her head as if saying, "What's a girl to do?" In that moment she felt compelled to give in to her indulgences. Spot, with every passing second, was leaning closer to her and she had not the will to stop it. She wasn't so sure she could hold true to her boundary she had set. And those nerves? They were working on overdrive.

She pulled a piece of hair in front of her. "I still kinda hate you, by the way."

"Hm, that's too bad 'cause I still kinda think you're charmin'." He took the piece of hair in her hands, twirled it around his finger loosely, and put it back in place behind her ear. "Real quick, could ya tell me who's winnin' so far in our little cat and mouse game?"

She searched her memory. "It's a tie."

He placed both hands on her hips now and without thinking she let her arms snake up to his chest and rest at his shoulders. Out of the corners of her eyes she could still see some mild mayhem occurring on Connor St. – men being thrown out of a bar, a small group of scantily-dressed women striding down the block, and plenty of people who'd had plenty to drink. It was the perfect place to get away with any kind of crime, where no one could blame her for doing this and no one ever would.

She stared into his eyes and focused as best as she could.

She closed the gap between them and put her lips to his. She remembered how easy it was to kiss him. Nothing truly felt wrong when she was in the moment like this. It was an escape, a drug that she didn't realize how much she'd missed until now. She felt his hands grip her tighter and she pulled away only to mutter a quick invitation back to her apartment, an invitation she offered before she thought about it. She took his arm and dragged him behind her, not that he was unwilling to join her by any means.

Despite the alcohol she had had, Lucy still felt her legs shaking as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. They had said very little to each other on the walk over. She realized, however painful the reality was, that Spot wasn't someone she could chat with or connect with on any deep kind of level. He wasn't the person she could get together with and while away the afternoon. Part of her appreciated it only because she'd finally come to terms with it, and part of her hated that quality about him – it was as if she could get him to go so far until he would shut down altogether. He seemed like such an impossible thought sometimes and it frustrated her.

"Long time, no see," said Spot once they made it to her door.

She gave a weak, cringing laugh as she shoved her key in the lock. She had a momentary flashback of opening the door days ago to David on one knee, sincerely waiting to apologize and make it up to her, because he, unlike Spot, actually cared that he had hurt her feelings. She bit her lip.

"Are you gonna kick me out the window again?" he joked, recalling the morning which she had done just that, as Sarah had come to her apartment unexpectedly.

"Only if you do somethin' bad."

She turned on the kerosene lamp dresser and stood against her dresser. Spot looked around the room as if taking in some of the memories he had of it. She watched him, wondering what his next move would be. She wanted to read his thoughts so badly.

She expected him to come at her again so they could pick up where they'd left off but instead he took a seat on her bed and looked at her from across the small room. Curiously, he asked, "David doesn't make night visits, does he?"

"Uh…" Lucy looked down and drew a circle in the wood with her shoe. She had no idea how to figure David into this equation. She knew how smug Spot would be if she told him the whole story, so she said ambiguously, "Don't worry about it."

He stood and made his way over slowly. "Is he still in the picture?"

She sighed, irritated. "Would it make a difference?"

"You tell me." He was directly in front of her now, highly unreadable no matter how hard she tried.

"Just shut up, Spot." She grabbed his collar and pulled him towards her, kissing him thoughtlessly. It was the easiest way to avoid the subject of David altogether.

With every move she made – backing him up onto the bed, turning quickly so he could unzip her dress, digging her hands into his hair, yanking off the rest of his clothes and falling carelessly onto her back to the bed – she felt suspended in air, hovering above everything so she could shut off her mind and enjoy it while it lasted. This time…it wasn't the same as the first time on that rooftop in Brooklyn. She wasn't the same person because she now understood that she needed to dissociate sex from love with Spot. These emotions with him, they were always temporary and fleeting, like a flame racing to the end of a matchstick. It took a great deal of time for her to accept this fact.

But even though this rendezvous had a guaranteed expiration date and deep down it stung, when she was with him it didn't matter. All she had to do was close her eyes and go through the motions that were so natural to her. Yet it was deeper than simply doing the movements, because there was always about ten seconds in which she lost her head altogether and truly, blindly believed with her whole heart that this – this simple act of _connectedness_ – it meant something.

Lucy lay beneath the covers a while later with her hands situated beneath her head. Satisfied, relaxed. Spot mimicked the way she was, and the portrait of the two had them both complacent and detached from one another.

"Well played, Sullivan," said Spot, reiterating what she had told him upon calling his game in the liquor closet of Sonny's.

She laughed quietly though she was reluctant to give him a compliment that would no doubt inflate his ego. But she had to agree. "You too."

"You still hate me?"

"Yes."

He laughed.

Lucy closed her eyes, suddenly very angry. This was the place that David had finally slept with her not long ago at all. _Block it out_, she told herself.

"Do I win this one or do you?" asked Spot, interrupting her thoughts. "I'm tryin' to figure this in my head because technically you invited me here but I –"

"Spot…" she sighed tiredly and annoyed. She felt around the floor for at least her slip dress. "It's not about winning anymore."

He sat up on his elbows and replied skeptically, "Really."

"Oh, you know what I mean." She squirmed her way into the modest cotton garment.

"I don't, actually…"

She looked at him suspiciously, wondering if really he was lost or if he was just hiding something with his words. She'd spent months always trying to decipher what he could possibly mean with every word he said to her, and now that he was doing it again she was too tired to repeat the exhaustive process. There were reasons why she had felt freer when she was done with him – he was far too tricky sometimes.

She grabbed his checkered shirt from the floor and tossed it to him. She finally answered, "It means get the hell out, I wanna get some sleep."

His lips spread into a grin, surprised at her actions. Without contesting he sat up and she gathered up the rest of his clothes. She got under her blankets again and watched as he effortlessly dressed himself without any kind of hurry or hesitation.

When he was done he turned to her and said, "Good seein' ya again."

"Hm."

"That's all I get? 'Hm'?"

"You just got a hell of a lot more than 'hm,' so don't complain."

He chuckled as he got to the door.

"Gonna be alright gettin' tucked in?" she teased, her words colder than she anticipated.

"I think I can manage."

"Goodnight Spot."

"Goodnight Lucy."

* * *

**A/N:** Wouldn't it be fun to have Spot as something like a stuffed animal? Just a thought :)


	12. Guilt

Chapters are getting longer. Enjoy :)

* * *

Refreshed and satisfied and at ease, Lucy tapped her fingernails against the surface of a table at Tibby's. She didn't realize how tense her body had been during the past week; now it was as if her nervous system was finally taking a break. It was like waking up from a long, deep nap, and the best part was that she had been feeling this way for several days. It only took one mindless night to hold her over for a week.

"Look at you, happy as a clam?" Racetrack appeared at her table, breaking her reverie. He pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable crossing her arms over the wooden backrest of the seat.

"Well rested," she clarified.

He made a puzzled face. "I woulda thought this day would be tough for you."

"Why?"

"Well, today's the day Dave leaves for Virginia."

Lucy hit her palms to her face. "Shit! I forgot."

"Yeah, well…" Race dug out his pocket watch. "Looks like ya missed it already."

Her body left its relaxation as she remembered Jack telling her days ago that he was accompanying the Jacobs' to the train station to see David off. She had lowered her head at the mention of it at the time; Jack said he understood that she didn't want to go. She sank in her chair. The last image she had of David was of his back to her, unspeaking after their rough breakup. He didn't say goodbye after that, she thought to herself. That's a bad sign. But she didn't say goodbye either.

"Gimme some potatoes with cheese and a muffin and a cup 'a coffee," said Racetrack to the waiter. "And don't skimp on the cheese like last time."

Lucy muttered her order – a coffee. "I'm horrible."

"_Meh_," shrugged Race. "He'll live."

She scrunched her face at his indifference. She thought she would run into Jack but he was at the train station, where maybe even more newsies were. It was likely, she thought. They were all brothers, how close they were. It made her feel guiltier. She longed for that blissful calmness she had.

"Don't feel bad," said Race, as if reading her unspoken thoughts.

"Hm?"

"You had a messy goodbye. That's all there is to it. He probably understands and shit."

She sat forward, putting her elbows on the table, intrigued by his analysis. "You really think so? You think he's gonna be fine? We said some hurtful things to each other. I can't imagine—"

Race held up his hand. "Sully, stop. You think _way_ too much about this stuff. You're gonna over-think it into a giant mess. Not to mention, I ain't a chick. I don't wanna talk about this kinda stuff before coffee."

Her cheeks flushed. "Sorry Race. I can't believe I didn't remember he was leaving so soon…" She brought her fist to her mouth, chewing on a fingernail.

"Heah." He pulled a rolled up newspaper from the floor and tossed it in her direction, the papers uncurling to reveal a dizzy mess of black ink words and photographs. "Read some 'a that. Take your mind off it."

Lucy did as he advised. As they waited for their food to arrive the two of them exchanged different sections of the paper, nodding at stories and commenting occasionally. She had to admit, even though she bought a paper from one of the boys almost every day of the week, she hardly read the articles. Mostly she just read the headlines and the papers would either end up in the trash or scattered on the floor of her apartment. The city, when she really paid attention to it, was far more exciting than she already knew.

"_Psh_, pretty sure we all know who's behind that one." Race shook his head and folded his paper in half.

"Who's behind what?"

"Nothin'." He cleared his throat in a way that made Lucy suspicious. "It's nothin'. Some political shit."

Their waiter came around to their table. He set before them two cups of coffee and a plate of potatoes for Race – he inspected the amount of cheese closely with his fork. Lucy tossed sugar into her steaming mug of black coffee and swirled a spoon inside it.

"Perfect," he said with a mouth full of food. "Perfect amount 'a cheese!"

Lucy laughed.

After some time Race looked out the window and squinted, muttering curses under his breath. A group of boys their age walked by and Race squared his cap on his head.

"What is it?" asked Lucy.

"That mick ovah there owes me three bucks!" Without hesitation he leapt up from the table and dashed out the door.

Lucy watched out the window as he chased the boys down and mutedly told them off. She laughed to herself, amused, knowing what insults he must have been throwing their way. She slid the paper he had been reading to her place. Her eyes danced around the contents until she landed on one catching headline: "Brooklyn youths suspected in arson case."

She bit her lip as she read on:

"_Police believe it was no accident that caused a city council office to catch fire last Tuesday in the early hours of the morning. The building had been unoccupied at the time of the conflagration. After closer inspection, investigators found that broken bottles of whiskey had been used as torching devices. Police questioned businesses from the surrounding area, who have said Brooklyn youth gangs and their constant run-ins with the law could be to blame. Residents have suggested such groups as well, as they have been known to cause various ruckuses in the same city block. Further investigation to follow_."

Lucy snorted a laugh. She knew as well as Race did who was behind the fire. She wondered, then, if Spot knew how close he was to publicized, city-wide infamy. But then again, he was probably used to it. She knew how much he liked to cause a little mayhem.

She sat back and hid her smile with her coffee mug. "Jackass."

Before Race returned and before she could let her mind linger in lusty thoughts of Brooklyn, the bell above the door rang and in walked Jack. Sarah was behind him. He stopped in the doorway, stopped by seeing Lucy at a table. He paused and just as she furrowed her brow, he smiled charmingly and waved. Sarah looked up and took notice of Lucy as well, only she certainly did not smile or wave – in fact, she cast a cold glare in Lucy's direction.

The look hit Lucy like a punch in the gut. Sarah's face – her icy gaze and clenched jaw – was so different from anything she had witnessed before.

Jack turned around, noting the dissonance between the two girls. Sarah muttered to him in a whisper and shoved open the glass door of the restaurant, disappearing into the street. Lucy's eyebrows flew up in shock. Jack smiled neutrally as he walked to the table.

"Uh, what the hell was that about?" demanded Lucy.

Jack shook his head. "Nothin', nothin', forget about it."

"Did you not see her face? My god! I had no idea Sarah had that in her. She looked like she wanted me to just burst into flames or something."

He shrugged helplessly. "Yeah, well…"

"Well, what?"

"Well, she's David's sistah. Ya know? She's on his side."

Lucy held up her hands. "Excuse me, I didn't know everyone was supposed to take sides here. We broke up. End of story."

"You also forgot he was leavin' this morning. I think she was expectin' you to end it on bettah terms or somethin'. She only got one side 'a the story, so what d'you expect?"

She was lost for words. "That's ridiculous, Jack."

"That's what it is, Lucy."

Her face screwed up and she opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. Her muscles tensed again and the guilt weighed heavier on her. They sat at the table, silent, and in the absence of conversation and after Lucy's pulse died down she had to wonder: was it possible that Sarah knew she had been with Spot again?

"Heah, this is for you," said Jack. He handed her an envelope.

She inspected it, the blank address on the cover and the folded piece of paper inside. She didn't take out the contents but she could see ink through the white paper and it was David's slanted handwriting. She swallowed and with clammy hands stuck the envelope into her pocket. She avoided Jack's eyes as she grabbed her coffee and drank it down thirstily.

The bell dinged again above the front door. Race reappeared and in tow were Mush and Blink. Race was jingling his pockets and Lucy assumed he had gotten his three bucks back. Mush nodded a hello in their direction, and Blink, like Sarah, stood in the doorway and stared at Lucy when they met eyes. She sat upright, stunned again by the look on the other person's face. Just as she was about to throw her hands in the air and proclaim that she couldn't take any more surprises for one day, Blink gestured for her to come over.

Lucy pushed herself up from the table and stomped outside. Blink walked fast and she had to skip to keep up. Halfway down the block she grabbed his arm to halt him.

"What the hell is with everyone today?" she questioned.

Blink glanced to either side of him. He stood with his hands at his waist, and for a moment Lucy had to wonder if it was difficult for him to look her dead in the eye.

"I saw you a week ago," he said.

"What are you talkin' about?" She was already impatient with him.

"I saw you on Connor St. It was pretty late."

She held up her palms, prompting him to elaborate.

"_Connor St.,_ Luce. I saw you outside a pub with Anna..."

"Oh." It suddenly became clear, so obvious and real. Blink had seen her with Spot – kissing Spot – intoxicated and careless about her surroundings. Her shocked face held the O for too long. In the long hesitation of her response she could hear her brain working fast to come up with something to say – a lie, a story, an excuse. Anything.

"That's the reaction I was lookin' for," said Blink.

"I don't know what to—"

"Say? Don't say anything. Let me do the talkin': you're stupid, Luce. I don't mean that you're a dumb person but that was a really stupid thing to do. Now it ain't any 'a my business what you do in your personal life, I admit. You could make out with every guy in New York and I wouldn't give a shit. But when you do it in the middle 'a the street in Manhattan with…" he glanced around, "_Spot_, you're really takin' a risk there."

She crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to hide herself.

"I don't care what guys you see except when it comes to him, Lucy. I thought I was hallucinating or somethin' and I gotta say I was lookin' at you with him for longer than I wanted… Are you really back together with him? Are you serious?" His voice jumped an octave in vehemence and vigor.

"No! We're not 'together,' like that," she said quickly. "It's this stupid sexual thing—"

"I don't wanna hear it!" He covered his ears. Lucy would have laughed at the action had he not been so serious and disappointed.

"Blink, I didn't even think to…I didn't know anyone would see me with him. I'm sorry you saw that—"

"Yeah, I'm sorry too 'cause now I can't pretend like I didn't!"

She stepped back. "What do you mean?"

"What the hell am I supposed to tell your brother?"

"Nothing! You're not supposed to tell him anything!"

He groaned and walked a circle around the street, pinching the bridge of his nose. Lucy watched him desperately, hoping that they could agree not to speak a word of what he'd seen. She kept going over it and over it in her head – how could she have been so irresponsible that night? She was tipsy but she could hardly blame the alcohol – she would have kissed him anyway.

"Blink." She grabbed his arm to stop him from moving around. "Please."

"What am I supposed to do, lie for you?"

Her eyes grew large and pleading, and because she could hardly bring herself to say it, they did the speaking for her: _Yes. Lie for me. _

She could see in his face how badly he didn't want to do it. How badly he didn't want to lie to Jack and David and the rest of the boys if they knew. Betrayal was the worst thing someone could do – the newsies surely knew what betrayal felt like. Lucy knew too, but she didn't want to admit that this was what she was making Blink do. He closed his eye and opened it after a moment's pause.

"Don't expect me to stick my neck out for you after this," he said lowly.

"I won't."

"Good. 'Cause it ain't my job to protect you anymore."

His resolution struck her like a quick lightning bolt. She looked down and stared at the ground while he walked away. Her toes wriggled inside her boots as she watched out of the corners of her eyes, his shoes stomp away in the dirt of the street.

"Lucy," he called, and she looked up at once. "I hope it's worth it."

She said nothing as he entered Tibby's. From a distance she could still make out the table she sat at only minutes ago – Jack, Race, Mush, Blink. She couldn't go back there and act like nothing was different. She looked down the block in the direction at which Sarah had stomped in a huff. She imagined her back to her, the way David had his back to her in his room, the way Blink had his back to her before he got inside the restaurant. She felt lonely in a way she did not fully anticipate.

She went back to her apartment then. She stripped off the sheets on her bed, the blankets and the pillows. She balled them up and put them in the corner. She sat on the measly, bare mattress and let her feet dangle off the edge. She dug out the letter from David that was sitting in her pocket. She took a breath and started:

"_I know we said some hurtful things but I still care about you. I realize it wasn't a good fit for us but I still think about you. I'm still here. If you need to say anything else, good or bad, here's the address._

She ran her finger over the ink of the street name.

_"David._

_P.S. You deserve a lot better than you think."_

She knew the post-script was a blatant implication that she might return to Spot in his absence. She hated to admit that she may have proven him right but she definitely had; the evidence was no clearer than Blink's newest secret and her stripped-bare, guilt-ridden bed frame.

The bathtub in her room sat in the corner, temptingly. A bath was what she needed again, she thought. If not for the metaphorical sense of refreshment, then at the very least it could ease her stress in as close a way sleeping with Spot could. Obviously it wasn't the same – they were polar opposites, in fact. Water and fire. One was clean while the other was dirty.

Just as she slipped off her shoes and stockings and unpinned her hair from a loose bun, a round of knocks at her door interrupted her. She hesitated and tiptoed her bare feet across the floorboards. When she opened the door Spot was holding the rubber band of his sling shot so the handle bounced up and down. He chuckled.

"It's like a marionette!" he said in childish amazement.

Lucy leaned her shoulder into the doorframe, sure to create a barrier between him and her apartment. She wired her jaw shut.

Spot stopped his wrist and looked up at her. "What?"

"What're you doing here?"

He stuck the slingshot in his pocket. "What's your problem?"

She held up her hand. "Don't start with me, okay? You're enough of a problem in my life."

He stepped back. "What – Whatevah, Luce."

"What do you _want_?"

"Are you seriously askin' me that?"

"Yes – What do you want from me?"

"I wanna have sex, is that blunt enough for you?"

Her face burned and she shifted uncomfortably. She mumbled, "I can't."

"What was that?" He stepped forward, leading with his ear.

"We can't do it here," she said miserably. "Not anymore."

"Why the hell not?"

"Someone found out about us again. I can't take any more risks with you."

He sighed angrily. He shoved his hands in his pockets and said nothing. Lucy's eyes traveled up to his face and she wasn't sure what the expression in his gaze was asking. Was he about to tell her he had had enough? Or was he going to barge right in anyway, since he obviously didn't have a care in the world about rules and making people mad?

"Come to Brooklyn then," he proposed.

His eyes, his lips. She answered automatically, "Gimme a minute."

She shut the door. She heard him press his back against the wall. She heard him get a cigarette and strike a match. She was facing the door, holding her palms to the wood and shaking. She had a choice: She could end this thing right here and now, she could blow out the flame and go back to normal in one easy swoop; or she could take her chances and put on her shoes and pray to God that nobody saw the two of them walking together through Manhattan.

She gave herself this choice. But she didn't know which answer she would choose, because every passing second a battle raged in her mind between hot and cold, logical and emotional, head and heart. She ran her fingertips over the surface of the water in the tub. She looked at the door, on the other side of which Spot was smoking a cigarette.

She stood up. Closed her eyes…


	13. Dark

_Thump. Thump. Thump. _How much could one heart take?

Lucy knew it would be a mistake to go to Brooklyn. To open the door, walk towards the Brooklyn Bridge, and join Spot at his side would be taking bigger risks than she'd already taken. Blink's words resonated inside: "I hope it's worth it."

She swallowed down her throat her thumping heart. Was her body telling her something? The cautionary foreboding lodged inside her neck and held her body in a tension that begged to be released.

Even so, as she trekked the Bridge through the black of night, she didn't stop. She was going to Brooklyn, and with ten more strides she would be out of the limbo that connected Brooklyn and Manhattan. It had been scary enough; since she and Spot couldn't be seen together she'd had to walk a block in front of him, almost by herself.

_Thump…Thump…Thump._

Her heart rate slowed as she rested against a pole coming at the docks. She watched Spot sauntering across the Bridge; she envied his calmness. Above the crowds of the busied streets in the distance, she heard only the slapping of waves against the wood staked into the Hudson River. There was still a shadowed cloud of disbelief above her head, asking her why she had decided to come. She didn't know. It was starting to seem like she didn't know anything at all anymore.

He said nothing once they were together. They could safely walk side by side now, and the feeling of another recognizable soul put Lucy's shame to rest. He'd greeted her by running his hand over her hair and grazing her back with his fingertips and dipping them below her hips. She moved away and neither of them wanted to fight over the disagreement, even though the dissonance was obvious.

The city became more alight and Lucy saw that it was similar to Connor St.; the mayhem there was remarkably the same here. The street crawled with nightlife, and Lucy and Spot were engulfed in it quickly.

Before the block on which the lodging house was, Lucy's eyes fell upon a building of just blackened wood, empty window frames and scattered ashes. It was the city council building that she had read about earlier that day.

"Did you do that?" she asked Spot.

Slowly the corner of his mouth spread into his cheek and he straightened himself up proudly. "Ya heard about that?"

"Yeah. I heard about that." She could smell the smoke still simmering. "I had a feeling that was you."

He shrugged. "We was bored."

"I read in the paper that whiskey bottles were used as 'torching devices.'" She had to laugh. "Is that true?"

"Yeah, well…we had to use somethin'. Oh, by the way, we ain't allowed at Sonny's no more."

She pulled his arm. "I thought you knew the owner," she wondered aloud, remembering that when she protested his breaking into a bottle of liquor when they were in the storage room he calmed her down by saying it was no big deal on a count of his friendliness with the owner.

He scoffed. "No, the guy hates me 'cause I only evah pay my tab half the time."

"So you stole the whiskey?"

"They don't give it away for free, Luce!"

She sighed. Theft was hardly something she could morally hold above him, but for some reason she felt a shred of disappointment, even in its triviality.

"Don't go all innocent and pure on me now."

"I'm not." She grew defensive.

He looked at her as if he were waiting for her to crack her hard exterior and begin laughing. When she didn't break, he narrowed his gaze and asked flatly, "Should I expect some kinda bitching from you now?"

She wasn't sure how to respond. His face still begged to hear her say that she was joking but the very notion of his inability to both take her seriously and take into account the validity of her emotions made her feel stuck. She forfeited, remaining silent.

"Just calm down," he said, and his voice returned to that dangerous and charming roughness that she liked. He led her down the streets.

The pubs on the street oozed with drunken men and women with makeup dripping down their faces. They were laughing and smoking, having a decadently hilarious time. In between the lodging house and the building next to it was the flickering orange glow of fire. Rather than having a raucous gathering inside the building, as Lucy had anticipated, everyone was outside. The guests were crowded into the space between, overflowing into the streets and mingling with other night owls. There were newsies and plenty of girls, there was an empty bottle of ale Lucy stepped on, and there was a trashcan in the center, in flames.

Spot was greeted by Ace, reeking of rum. "Where ya been?"

"I had to pick this one up." He nodded to Lucy.

Ace noticed her standing there and was rather blasé. She looked to Spot to see if he had any reaction; he didn't. He immersed himself into the crowd and she tried to keep up.

Next to the fire, Spot chatted with others casually, and it was weird for Lucy to watch him in his natural environment – he conversed, laughed, joked with his boys. He slung his arm around her neck. She took the bottle in his hand and sipped, wincing through it. Why did she drink when she hated the way alcohol went down?

She was nestling comfortably under his arm when he took it away unexpectedly. Her shoulder and neck were cool in its absence and he walked off, leaving her. She looked around but couldn't find him. She stopped at the perimeter of the drunken gathering, teetering on the edge of the party. She was alone again.

"Can I have some of that?" asked a quiet, male voice. Lucy turned in his direction and in the flicker of the fire saw a boy around her age. His face was pale and fair, and his eyes were tired.

"Sure." She handed it to him.

"Thank you." He held the bottle with precise movements; with one hand on the neck, the other on the bottom, he tipped it into his mouth. She noticed that his hair, though disheveled, was clean, and his clothes were tailored and his shoes were still intact.

"You from Brooklyn?"

The boy glanced around. "Yes. Aren't you?"

"No, I live in Manhattan."

"Oh. Manhattan's nice. Why do you ask?"

She eyed him. "You don't live on the streets, do ya?"

He straightened up and grew outwardly defensive, though the weakness of which was subdued by the obvious fact that he did not. "Why?"

Lucy dusted of the shoulders of his jacket, tugged at the buttons of his shirt, and kicked her foot to his leather boots. "It's pretty obvious."

He roughly took another swig. "Does it matter?"

"Here?" She looked behind her at the animalistic antics of Spot and the other newsies; they tossed a huge pile of wooden planks onto the fire and chanted like tribal natives so the flames would grow higher. "Yeah. I'd say it matters."

The boy gulped. He extended his hand properly. "I'm Michael."

"I'm Lucy."

"Michael Banks."

"Lucy Sullivan."

"Pleasure to meet you, Lucy."

She snorted. "I wouldn't talk like that if I was you, Banks. These guys love to pick at fresh meat."

Michael shook his head. "I don't think it'll be an issue. I'm not causing any problems."

"Not yet," she muttered. "What're you doin' out so late, isn't it past your bed time?"

Michael scratched the back of his neck. If it hadn't been for the darkness she would have seen his face grow pink with embarrassment. "No reason."

"Oh, c'mon." She shoved his shoulder. "Did Mommy and Daddy let the butler know you'd be out late?"

"It's not like that."

"Oh, okay. I'll buy that." Her voice mocked understanding.

"I ran away," said Michael.

Lucy cleared her throat, intrigued. "What're you runnin' away from?"

He shrugged again. "Lots of things."

"Well, I can tell you the streets aren't near as nice as those silver spoons you got back home, so you might wanna rethink your choice there, Banks."

He shook his head. "You don't know anything about me, so you should probably keep your mouth shut."

She was taken aback.

"Sorry." He shoved his hands in his pockets and traced the dirt with his shoes.

Lucy stared at his actions. She felt saddened by the boy's plight. He was a stranger here, and even though they came from two different worlds they shared this one thing in common: they both hated Brooklyn and wanted out. She heard quick footsteps behind her and Spot crashed into her back. "Christ, ya scared me."

"Sorry babe." He pecked her on the cheek. "Who's this guy?"

Michael righted himself. He crossed his arms over his chest, concealing the buttons on his shirt and the crispness of his jacket.

Lucy started, "This is—"

"Ha! Where _you_ from, huh?" Spot yanked at Michael's collar.

"Stop that." Michael smacked his hand away like it was a buzzing insect.

Lucy felt nerves rake through her and she looked at Spot. He stared at Michael, and his demeanor, that easygoing, partying, relaxed demeanor he had moments ago, vanished and gave way to a defensive and territorial state of being that was second nature to him. Lucy grabbed his arm to bring him back, but he shrugged her off and circled Michael the way a vampire would sniff its prey.

"You ain't from around these parts, are ya?"

Michael was stiff. Though he tried to conceal it, he was breaking into a sweat. "I don't mean any—"

"'Cause if you was from around heah you'd know who I was." Spot shoved him suddenly.

"Sp—" Lucy stepped forward.

"Hey!" Spot held up his hand. "Let the boy figure it out on his own. Hey, boys!" He waved his arm and a portion of the newsies provoking the fire snapped their heads to attention. When Spot motioned for them to come over they did so at once.

Lucy noticed the expression on poor Michael's face. "This really isn't necessary."

"Lucy, be quiet," hissed Spot.

She bit her tongue to keep from setting him off. In what position was she to fight back? She was in his territory, with his rules, without anyone else to look after her – and she had asked for this. Perhaps not the controlling, dismissive Spot that he was now, but she had asked for this as soon as she chose to leave Manhattan. Again, she heard Blink's voice in her head: "I hope it's worth it."

The newsies crowded the two boys, blocking Lucy.

"Fellas, we gotta teach this one heah who he's gotta respect in Brooklyn," said Spot.

One boy whistled. "That's some nice clothes there."

"Mind if we take a look?" Another stepped behind Michael and roughly yanked down the collar of his jacket so that he was forced out of it.

"So we got ourselves a newbie, huh?"

"Boys, go show…" started Spot.

"Michael." He said his own name reluctantly.

"Go show Michael who he can and can't piss off in my city." Spot slid out his black cane and whacked Michael behind his knees.

"Jesus!" he gritted painfully.

"C'mon, richie, we'se gonna show you the ropes!"

"Make sure he knows not to mess with us!"

The boys pushed him towards the alley. Lucy watched helplessly as Michael tripped in his black, expensive shoes. She wished she could have done something to protect his dignity, as she knew he probably hated those boys as much as she did.

"Hey." Spot raised his cane and ran it along her side.

Lucy swatted it away.

"Come with me." His voice dipped low and inviting.

On any other day she would have found its dangerous charm alluring. "Was that really necessary?"

He dropped the cane and changed personas. "What?"

"Are you always like that with new people or were you particularly _asshole_ because he didn't know who you were?"

Spot put the cane back in its place. "Look." He put his hands her shoulders, preparing to explain it the way a teacher would explain to a student. "This is what I do. This is Brooklyn. It's big and dark and scary and I don't expect you to understand."

"I'm not an idiot, Spot, I do have a decent amount of street smarts in me." She shook her shoulders so that he no longer touched her. "Don't act like I'm a child."

He laughed quickly. "You sure as hell ain't a child no more." He reached behind her and smacked her rear-end.

Acting purely on impulse, her hand flew upwards and slapped him across the face. His face snapped in the direction of the burning, stinging offense.

"Now that you got _that_ outta your system…" He moved his jaw around. "Let's go."

"What? Where?"

"Just follow me." He put his hand to her back and starting walking her away.

The place where he had brought her was not what she had been expecting. They stopped at a building in the middle of all the craziness, a building wedged narrowly between two others that were equally run-down and unbecoming. Walking up the crooked staircase were a skimpily dressed, heavily made-up young woman and an older, likely married, top-hat wearing man. She giggled. He giggled. And when they opened the door there were plenty more young girls and older men inside.

"A whorehouse," said Lucy.

"It's a hotel," corrected Spot.

"A whorehouse, Spot. You took me to a whorehouse."

He sighed, exasperated. "It's. A. Ho. Tel."

She moved in front of him, close so that her chest touched his and she spoke right into his face. "Is this what you really think of me? A whore?"

"'Course not." He smirked. "I don't pay you."

The words, though meant to tease her, sank to the bottom of Lucy's stomach like a rock. The realization of it, and the hurt, showed on her face. Spot rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, I was only playin'. Look, it's either we do it here or we do it at the lodging house where thirty other boys sleep. At least here we have doors."

Lucy felt stuck between her options – she couldn't walk home alone. She said nothing, and with this reply Spot linked his arm through hers and they made their way up the crooked staircase of the building. She kept her head down as they shoved past the "hotel guests" in the entrance and up the staircase. She held Spot in the crook of her arm tightly.

Safely inside their quiet, rented room, Lucy took a cautious seat on the bed. Though the blankets and sheets and pillows were all seemingly clean and put in place, she sat on the edge with caution. Spot walked around the small space.

"They've really stepped up their quality, I'd say," he joked.

Finding no humor in this, Lucy glared at him.

"Relax." The way he said it sounded like he was tired of saying it.

He stepped out of his shoes and un-tucked his shirt. She took the pins from her hair and removed the stockings from her legs. He pulled down his pants and she started with the buttons of her dress. It was all so mechanical, so old. They got in bed without saying anything and he began kissing her. The rush of adrenaline she always received was weak now; she was practically half-asleep. He'd finished off the buttons of her dress and she wriggled out of it and tossed it aside. She rolled him on top of her and he felt heavy. Just as his hand was sliding up the inside of her leg, she opened her eyes.

"Wait."

His hand froze, gripping her flesh. "What?"

His face hovered inches from hers and she didn't know why, but she didn't want this to happen anymore. She choked out, "I can't."

He tried to keep his cool. "Why?"

She swallowed, calling on Mother Nature to help her out, employing a lie that was sure to stop him. "It's not a good week for me."

He blinked. She stared back, hoping the steadiness of her eyes would prevent him from calling her bluff. When he didn't say anything else he pushed himself off of her and rolled onto his back. She sat up and looked strangely at him – his naked chest and stomach, the edges of the blanket stopped an inch below his belly button.

A smirk was on his face. He secured his hands behind his head and sighed, motioning downward with his eyes. Down below his navel, below the concealing edge of the blanket. He said rather presumptuously, in a voice void of emotion, "Alright. Get to it."

She stared at the blanket, at the spot that he assumed she would stick her mouth since they couldn't have sex. Would she give him that solitary satisfaction? There was no pleasure in it for her – she hated it, especially tonight. She felt the bile rise up from her stomach. She grabbed the blanket where she could have put her mouth – grabbed something else, grabbed a little too hard – and tossed the blanket up to his chest while he simultaneously recoiled in pain.

"Fuck!"

"Forget it!" Lucy got to the floor and retrieved her dress. She messily threw it over her head, getting angrier and angrier.

He scooped up his pants and yanked them on. "You could've told me you couldn't have sex before you even came here!"

"Shut up, Spot, I hate you!"

"Christ, Lucy, make up your mind already!"

"What?"

"You either wanna have a relationship with me or you don't!"

"Relationship?" The word confused her; how many, many connotations it had.

He glared at her, unspeaking, as he haphazardly buttoned his shirt. She stared at him with expectation. Her mind flailed to get control of it – what relationship had he meant? Was it something else? She wanted to believe so. Deep down, she really did.

"What d'you mean?" she asked desperately.

He breezed past her. "Don't you dare walk home tonight." He swung open the door and stopped. "I'm gonna come back here late tomorrow morning to pay the bill. Leave before then. I bettah not see you when I'm back." He slammed the door. And he was gone.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to EmeraldGreyClouds :) REVIEW PLEASE!


	14. Damages

Lucy did not want to stay in Brooklyn that night, just to spite him. Spot had left her in the whorehouse – pardon, _hotel_ – and she was so disgusted with the place that she opted to sleep on the floor rather than the mattress. She shook out the pillow through the open window and curled up inside the skirt of her dress. The floor was hard, the room was cold, and she was downright pissed off. It had taken her a few hours – a few, very, very long hours – until she fell into something resembling sleep.

She wasn't dreaming when around the middle of the night, hours past midnight, the door opened and Spot stood in the doorway. She had blinked closed before they could meet eyes and she pretended to remain asleep; she didn't have the stamina for another argument. He remained in the doorway about a minute until the light of the hallway dimmed and the door closed.

His slow footsteps resounded on the floor and Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. He stood over her and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as if they were warning signals. Her heart thumped; she nearly anticipated he was going to hit her or kick her awake with his foot. But then, he bent down and scooped one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. Effortlessly he lifted her up off the floor and put her into bed. Having realized she was over the covers, he lifted her legs slowly, pulled back the blanket, put down her legs, and laid the blanket over her.

Despite this, she expected him to leave right afterward. Maybe leave some money on the nightstand for the bill. But in a most peculiar way, he didn't. He crept around the floor with careful footsteps, slid his shoes off and took off his shirt. He got in bed and lay next to Lucy's curled up body. He put his arm around her stomach and went to sleep.

Lucy opened her eyes. _What the…?_

* * *

The gray sky's light from the following morning woke Lucy up. The first thing she felt was a headache. When she stretched out her legs her joints were in pain – she had slept in that curled up position all night. Spot was still next to her, sleeping, and his body was so still that she almost checked his pulse.

In the light, she saw that his face had random cuts. One running along the edge of his cheek and another at his eyebrow. Her eyes traveled down the rest of him. There were years-old scars along his arms and chest and stomach, and bruises that were all at different stages of the healing process.

Quietly, she slid herself out of bed. As she searched for her shoes she found the checkered shirt he had been wearing from the previous night. There were large, dark red stains along the chest and some on the sleeves. She took another look at Spot's sleeping form; no serious injuries. The lacerations on his face couldn't draw that much blood either. Then it hit her – and when it did she felt nauseous – that the fresh, crimson stains were from someone else's body.

It was the weekend, and back in Manhattan the air was fresher and Lucy felt instantly cleaner. As soon as she stepped foot off the Brooklyn Bridge she felt a momentous weight lift from her shoulders. She wasn't so sure she would be having any visits with Spot in the near future, and immediately she felt better at the thought. It was only logical that being around someone like him was toxic for her. Anyone could have told her that and she would have to agree.

She saw a newsie on a random block and got him to give her a paper even though she didn't have money by telling him she was Jack Kelly's sister. She didn't read the headlines but after a nice, long nap back at her apartment she intended to do so. Maybe if she felt particularly vengeful she would tip off the city police about the council building fire. But she wasn't that low.

As she made her way past a busy market, she saw Sarah in the short distance. Initially she was glad until she remembered that Sarah had turned the other direction upon seeing her at Tibby's. Before Lucy turned around Sarah spotted her and they made eye contact. Lucy gave a weak wave. Sarah had two bags full of groceries and she set them down.

"I'm sorry," she said from ten feet away. "That was so rude of me to turn my back on you."

Lucy walked towards her and gave her a hug. In the embrace she felt instantly better – though they had their differences, there could be no denial in the way Sarah was a good person, and being around the people she was around last night made this particularly refreshing. She was better than Spot and anyone he was associated with. This gratefulness was unexpectedly powerful and she felt a lump in her throat.

"Can you forgive me?" asked Sarah when she pulled away.

Lucy smiled. "Absolutely. I never meant to hurt David—"

"I know, I know, I know." She waved her hands. "Jack talked some sense into me yesterday. We're on the same page now, so there's no reason to be mad…It's just a loyalty thing. You know?"

Lucy looked down. "Yeah, I know."

"He should be around here somewhere, by the way…" Sarah rotated her head, searching.

"The last time Jack was in the market he got arrested, so you might want to watch out," teased Lucy, citing the fateful day that she and Jack were separated because the two of them were stealing food and his poor thievery skills had gotten the better of them.

Sarah scoffed and said under her breath, "He's such a child…"

The statement seemed unprecedented, like a slip of the tongue. Lucy was put off; of course Jack was a child – he always would be! Perhaps it was starting to clash with Sarah's maturity. She put it out of her mind.

Jogging up from the market was Jack with a look of euphoric, crazed expression on his face. Sarah turned, irritated yet relieved, and when he saw them he told them to keep running. Lucy laughed and followed him, understanding that he had just done something slightly illegal, and Sarah groaned as she picked up the groceries. Jack and Lucy ran halfway down the block and slid into a nearby alley.

"What'd you do, Francis?" teased Lucy.

He glared quickly but fished out a loaf of sourdough bread. He split it in half. "_Bon appétit_."

Lucy stuffed the food into her mouth, suddenly realizing how starved she was.

Sarah appeared in the opening of the alley. She took one look at the two of them eating stolen food and dropped the groceries again. "Jack Kelly!"

"What?" His cheeks were puffed up and round.

"How old are you?"

"Ten," interjected Lucy.

Jack shoved her into the wall. "It's just some lousy bread. Ain't done that in years!"

"Yeah, you finally got it right," said Lucy.

"Do you want me to punch you, or what?"

Lucy shrugged and took another bite.

"So you musta had a late night last night," said Jack suddenly, casually.

She froze and stared mutely.

"I saw you walkin' around over on Eighth St. when Blink, Race and I was pickin' up some booze." He ripped a piece of bread with his teeth. "Anna lives over that way, don't she? You guys have a get-together or somethin'?"

She thanked every lucky star she had that he had made this assumption and nodded. "Yeah. I stayed the night there…"

"Good, you shouldn't walk by yourself that late."

Lucy forced a knowing smile and nod. Apparently everyone was terrified for her safety. "I know."

Sarah was growing impatient. "Hey, Jack, we gotta get going. I'm supposed to get these things to make breakfast. So…could you, I dunno, chew and carry one of these at the same time?" She motioned to a grocery bag and Jack obediently picked it up.

Lucy waved goodbye to the two, and just as she turned around Jack called back to her.

"Hey, any reason why Blink would be mad at you?" he asked.

Lucy nearly choked on her bread. "Why?"

Jack shrugged. "He was actin' funny as soon as you talked to him yesterday after Tibby's. Then when we saw you last night he got kinda angry. I dunno, he was bein' dramatic."

She hated to have put Blink in this position, forced to lie. But maybe she could come clean now and everyone could live without any secrets whatsoever? _Yeah, right_, she immediately decided. "Got me."

* * *

As soon as Lucy stepped inside her apartment she dropped the newspaper, stepped out of her shoes and plopped herself onto her bed. It was still just the mattress, as she had balled up the blankets and sheets the day before to deter feelings of guilt and filth, but today she no longer cared. Any bed was better than the bed she had shared with Spot.

For a few hours she dreamed nonsensical dreams. Flashing images and various sounds, of nothing important at all. She awoke refreshed and it was just past noon, and she had the entire day to relax. When she got up she put the sheets on her bed, tucked in the blanket and fluffed her pillow. They almost looked clean and brand new again.

As she picked up various things around her room, straightening things up and putting things away, she occasionally replayed the events that transpired last night. She had been in such a foul mood that being in Brooklyn was utterly dreadful; but what happened, the fighting with Spot and the constant disagreements, those were in and of themselves awful no matter where they occurred.

She pulled open her nightstand drawer and retrieved the letter David had written her. She looked at the post-script: "You deserve a lot better than you think." Now, she didn't feel like it. But in the long run, yes, perhaps she did. She didn't deserve to be treated the way Spot treated her; isolated in a strange area, taken to a whorehouse – because it _was_ – and subsequently left with guilt because she wouldn't perform a sexual act that always disgusted her. David's prophetic words were dead-on.

She took out a blank sheet of paper and pen. There was very little ink left in the jar so she had to make it quick, right to the point. She wrote:

"_Thank you for your letter. I hope Virginia is good. I do miss you even though it was rough the way we left things._

_About Spot: I understand. You were right. I'm done with him for good._

_See you soon._

_Lucy_."

She blew on it to let the ink dry and when it didn't, she let it sit face-up right next to David's letter on the nightstand. In that moment she missed him. Perhaps not in a romantic way, but she missed having his friendship on standby. His logic was able to balance her emotional drama when it came to advice.

She picked up the newspaper on the floor and got comfortable in her bed. She had the time to do so, now that she wasn't sitting around pondering about her torrid relationship with a certain Brooklyn boy. She may miss the way they were together – the physicality of their raw relationship, and what was with his return to the room and getting into bed with her? – but she didn't want to see him for a good long while (or maybe even ever) and she wanted to forget that anything from last night ever happened.

But that last thing she desired was not going to come true. When she unfolded the newspaper, last night was staring her right in the face: "Brooklyn youth found beaten to brink of death – In critical condition." And right below the headline, a picture of Michael Banks. She sat up and felt her heart choke her. She spread out the paper and placed her face inches from the text.

"_Sixteen year-old Michael Banks, son of Brooklyn city councilman Joseph Banks, was found unconscious early this morning when workers found him at the entrance to the docks of the Hudson River. One employee says he was bloodied and nearly unrecognizable. Another says they thought the boy was already dead until they found him breathing. He has suffered several physical wounds to the arms, legs, abdomen and head. Lacerations likely from a knife are present as well. At this time he has broken ribs, a broken collarbone, and a broken nose._

"_Banks was taken to the hospital where he remains in critical condition. He has awakened but is in great pain. His injuries are still extreme and life-threatening. Hospital doctors and nurses have been tending to his bedside for the entire morning and will continue to do so. Parents Joseph and Helen have released no statements._

"_City officers have made this investigation priority number one. Many citizens have come forward with information, suggesting certain area gangs are to blame. They have begun arresting and questioning possible suspects and moving forward quickly. Any information that would be useful to this investigation is greatly encouraged, as the Banks family is seeking a large, monetary reward_…"

Lucy froze and felt herself grow cold. Her heart, thump, thump, thumping away inside her throat hurt. She released her tight grip on the paper and shakily put it back on her bed. She brought her hands to her mouth and curled into a ball, backing up so that she leaned into the wall.

Michael. Banks. She had met him last night. He was the runaway, the newbie. The one Spot had taunted. The one he had instructed his boys to acclimate to Brooklyn. Taught him who he could and couldn't piss off in Brooklyn. Spot's city.

Then she remembered Spot's shirt this morning. The huge, crimson stains, and no signs of injury on himself. That was someone else's blood – Michael's blood. What exactly had happened when he was gone? She felt dizzy and felt her whole body trembling. She always knew Spot had a dark, dangerous and even criminal side, but she had no idea she would see the worst of it. That temper, that anger she had only seen a fraction of – it was nothing compared to this. Had he murdered people before? Had people actually died from his hand? She was sick at the thought, because she had absolutely no idea, and had no idea who that person was. And now this – she wanted so badly not to be involved but she was. She had been the one talking to Michael; Spot was talking to her when he met him. She was the common thread here.

Lucy gasped loudly when the door thudded three harsh knocks and she recoiled into the wall. She swallowed down the beating lump in her throat and, trembling, walked to the door. She touched her cold, clammy palms to the door and gathered coolness to say, "Who is it?"

"It's me." The voice was recognizable instantly.

She couldn't help it: her face screwed up and her eyes filled with hot tears. She swung open the door and cried, "What did you do?!"

Spot shoved himself through the entrance and slammed it shut, twisting the lock hurriedly. He was as pale as a ghost, as white as she had ever seen. He was wearing a new shirt now, a clean shirt. The cuts on his face were dying in redness and were dark, almost black. His face – there was no expression. No smirk, no angry emotion, nothing. All he did was stare back at Lucy.

She held her chest to control herself. "What – did you – do?"

"Lucy…" He stepped towards her and gripped her arms and said nothing else.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to hold steady. After several deep breaths she opened them again. She stared into his steely blue-gray eyes. When she unclenched her muscles she felt that his grip on her, his fingers were all shaking.

The blankness of his face gave way to an intense emotion, something she never knew Spot Conlon to possess: fear. He could not conceal it with a smirk or a knitted brow or an intimidating, rigid stance. Nothing was hidden from her in this moment, because Spot looked more terrified in his face than she had ever seen anyone.

This realization, it stopped Lucy's crying. Knowing how scared he was halted her. He could not say a single word to deny what she was thinking. So she moved forward, and in putting her arms around him, he at the same time wrapped his arm around her. He had one hand across her shoulders and the other tight on the back of her head, grasping her hair. He held on.

* * *

A/N: Oh my! What have we here? Spot, damaged? Thoughts please.


	15. Cleanse

He was shaking. Uncontrollably shaking.

Lucy broke away from Spot's embrace. He was reluctant to let go. She stepped backwards and put her steady hand at his chest. She felt his nervous heart and it was surreal. He let go of her shoulders and his fingers followed her arm, past her elbow, past her wrist and he put his hand over hers, over his heart.

"Breathe," she told him.

He inhaled. Exhaled. It made no difference in his heartbeat. With her eyes she searched the room for something that could possibly help. She looked behind her and noticed the bathtub full of water, waiting to be used. When she turned around he had followed her unspoken suggestion and she let go of his chest. He reached behind him and retrieved a gun from his waistband. Her stomach did a somersault at the sight of it, and he tossed it to the floor. She gulped and stared into him, a flood of uncertainty coming over her.

"Let's just…" her voice quaked and she shook her head.

He pulled off his shirt. She unbuttoned her dress. He took off his shoes and socks. She rolled down her stockings. He dropped his pants. Her dress fell to the floor. He stood, vulnerable and bare. She stood with her hands clutching his sides.

She walked backward, leading him. She stepped into the cold water, one careful foot at a time, and he followed suit. He looked not at her stripped self, not at her nakedness, but at her unwavering gaze. They sat down in the water facing each other. She let go of him and curled her body into a ball, wrapping her arms around her legs. She felt her toes against his and only his knees were visible above the surface, his chest and neck as well. He took a handful of water and brought his face into it.

"It's gonna be okay," she said.

He breathed.

"Spot?"

He looked at her through the tops of his eyes.

"It's gonna be okay."

"It's not."

"What happened?"

He stared silently.

"Tell me."

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with both hands. "We was all drunk. You saw that."

She nodded.

"That kid, we was just messin' around with him…I wasn't threatened by him, but we…I mean, you get in that mindset, defending yourself all the time…" He shook his head. "It was after the hotel. We took him into this alley, we was makin' him drink a whole lot. He threw up so we made him drink more. One 'a the guys – Ace, or Dodge, I can't remembah – he punched him every time he threw up."

Lucy kept herself from wincing or cringing, or asking the obvious, angry question, why?

"I don't know, that's just what happens in Brooklyn…That's just what we do." He rubbed his hands and looked at his palms. He flipped them and scanned the cuts along his knuckles. "We're tough, ya know?"

"What happened next?"

"He started screamin' and shit…He wouldn't stop and neither would Ace. So I started…hitting him with my cane. Just to shut him up, he was screaming for the cops and shit, so we had to make him be quiet. He started fightin' back with Ace and the other boys. He started punchin' and he got me right in the face." He turned and pointed to the cut along his cheekbone.

Lucy bit the inside of her lip.

"He almost got free after that and he got into the street, yellin' for the bulls, and a few 'a them on horses noticed him and started makin' their way over to us. They broke up the party and everything, which made us all real mad. So…" He adjusted in his seat. "So Ace clocks him in the head, I get him real hard in the stomach, and we carry him and run down the other end of the alley. We ran all the way to the docks." His jaw suddenly clenched hard and he swallowed. He looked down at his hands again. Fixated.

"It's okay," started Lucy, suggesting he could stop if he wanted.

"And he just kept fuckin' screamin'." He smacked his fist into his palm. "He wouldn't shut the fuck up."

"Spot—"

"So that's when I took my cane and Ace and Dodge held either of his arms and I just swung at him like he was a fuckin' baseball…I mean, this kid needed to shut his mouth, he was still cussin' us out, calling us trash and street rats and other bullshit like that, and the cops was gonna come sooner or later. I was still real drunk, remembah that."

Lucy felt her heart beating like a hammer.

"So I kept hitting him and hitting him. I don't know how many times but I know it was a lot…Too much. He fell down once Ace and Dodge let go…Ace took out his knife—"

Lucy was on the brink of crying.

Spot gulped and said out of force, "Cut him up pretty bad."

"Oh, God…" She hid her face in her arm.

Spot sniffed. "I figured we was done, he got the message. So I pulled him up by the collar. He was like a rag doll, I coulda thrown him around, how loose he was. I told him my name. We left him there."

"You told him your name?" She spoke with terrified clarity – that's what had set this whole thing off.

He nodded once. When he spoke next his voice was cold, in a way she was familiar with, but threaded between the hardness was a hint of guilty realization. "Now he knows."

Lucy felt tears roll down her face. She wiped them away and took a breath. Spot was looking at his hands when she returned his gaze to him. His palms rested on the surface of the water. She placed hers on the backs of his hands and he interlocked their fingers. His grasp was tight and she realized how badly he needed her. More than a hug or a reassuring word, he needed her above anything else.

"This is…" he started.

She lightly put her fingers over his mouth. She moved towards him in the cramped space of the tub. He stretched his legs out as far as they would go to accommodate her closeness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her to him. He traced the smooth skin of her back and again put a hand on the back of her head.

"It's gonna be okay," she reiterated.

He said nothing but rubbed her hair. She pulled back and spun around, cozying up to him with her back resting against his chest and stomach. His arms were resting taut across the edges of the tub and she ran her hands across them. She ran her finger over old scars.

"You have so many," she said. "It's almost scary."

"I know."

"I bet you have a million stories to tell."

He ran his finger over a white line permanently fixed on the flesh of her left bicep. "You do too."

She looked at the scar. "That one's old."

"What'd you do?"

She sighed, searching her memory. "Before my dad got arrested and carted off to jail, Jack and I would help him with his drug business. He used to have us run his stash from our place to another so he wouldn't get caught. The first time we went out Jack was runnin' and I was tryin' real hard to catch up and I tripped and fell and clipped my arm on a broken crate box."

Spot laughed quietly. "Ouch."

"Yeah, it was pretty messy. We showed up to the place and there was blood dripping all down my arm and the wife there took care 'a me. But I still got the scar."

"What a trooper."

She laughed. "I guess. We had code names, too. Jack was Jack Kelly – his real name is…Well, he kept his code name, let's just leave it at that."

"What was yours? I always wondered why you went by Sullivan and he was Kelly."

"Evie Baxter."

"Hm. Evie Baxter…" he considered it. "I like that. Real nice."

"Thanks." She chuckled. "Might I ask what your real name is?"

"What makes ya think Spot Conlon ain't my real name?"

"Oh, please. You made that up."

"Cross my heart, I was born Spot Conlon."

"Liar." She splashed some water behind her.

"Fine, fine…"

"So, what was it?"

"Patrick."

"Patrick…Patrick what?"

"Johnson."

Lucy spun around and faced him, a smile ready. "You're so Irish."

His lips spread into his cheeks. No traces of a smirk at all.

"You little four-leaf clover, you."

"Yeah, I get lucky most 'a the time." He looked down and his smile vanished. "Except now."

The lightheartedness disappeared. She held his face in her hands. "It's—"

"'Gonna be okay,'" he finished mockingly, forcing humor out of his circumstance. "I got it. I don't believe you, but I got it."

She breathed a pained exhale. "We should get out. We'll start to prune." She put her hands on either side of the tub, ready to hoist herself up when she stopped cold. She eyed Spot, who had the slightest grin on his face that he was trying to conceal. Her chest was still beneath the rippling water and she wanted to keep it that way. "Eyes closed."

His grin widened and he looked at her, a chuckle trembling in his chest.

"You'll never change…" She laughed in spite of herself and cupped one hand over his eyes while she got out and secured herself in towel.

Once the both of them were dry and back in their regular clothes, the fleeting relaxation of the bath dissipated. They were silent again for a while. Lucy folded up the newspaper a few times and stuck it on her nightstand, over the letter she had written earlier to David.

"I already read the paper," said Spot suddenly.

She spun to face him. "You did?"

"What is that, the morning edition?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head.

"What?"

"Things've probably changed since then. You might wanna pick up a new one."

She peered out the window. Usually she could always see a small newsie at the corner of her street. She squinted and there he was, walking up to his post as if called psychically from Spot. She turned back around, tight-lipped. He stared back, knowing the new edition was out now.

"Do you want me to go get a copy?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, I mean…" He shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets.

"You mean what?"

"I gotta know if I gotta leave."

"What d'you mean?"

"The kid knows who I am. What more proof do they need who did it?"

"That doesn't mean—"

"Lucy, this ain't a street war. This has nothin' to do with newsies or Brooklyn or Manhattan or nothin' like that. This is the cops and they've wanted me on some kinda crime evah since I started out on the streets. I almost killed that kid – you do realize that, don't you?"

"He's still alive—"

"And he might talk! He ain't unconscious no more and he's got my name! People on the street – they know my name, too, and I got plenty of enemies out there who'd kill to send me jail! It ain't with respect you rat out other street trash but there's a hell of a lotta people who would, I'm tellin' ya right now."

She put her hand on her hip and looked at the ground.

"You may've lived on the streets for a couple 'a years but this is my whole goddamn life I'm talkin' about! This could be it for me, ya know that? If that kid talks, I'm done for! You bet your life on it, he'll talk! He ain't a runaway no more, he's got lots 'a people protectin' him and I don't!"

"You have your boys—"

"Nothin' compared to what he's got, Lucy! What don't you get? If I get caught, I'm goin' to jail and hope to hell they don't kill me for what I did!"

She held up her hand. "Stop, Spot. I mean it. Nothing's happened yet that you need to freak out about. I get it – you're in danger. I fucking get it. So stop yelling at me and just calm down, have a seat, and I'll go get a newspaper." She yanked open the drawer to the nightstand and got a penny. She breezed past Spot and stomped downstairs.

When she entered the streets her nerves started to act up. They buzzed incessantly beneath her skin and deep down. She may have faked a calm, collected persona to keep Spot from spiraling out with anxiety but inside she was about to pop. She felt her face brighten shades of pink as she hurried down the street.

The newsie was surrounded by people, collecting coins quickly and handing out papers blindly in a fuss. Lucy shoved past everyone, placed a penny in his hand and grabbed a paper from the stack. She walked a few steps away and stopped so she could hold it still: "WANTED: Two suspects named, linked to beating of Banks boy."

"Oh, no…" She started with the first paragraph. "_After receiving witness information and interrogating several people – in a quick amount of time – Brooklyn police have narrowed down the search to at least two criminal suspects who played a hand in the near-death of Brooklyn youth, Michael Banks: Spot Conlon, of Brooklyn_"—she felt her stomach plummet to the ground and she almost ripped the paper to shreds after reading his name, but returned to find the next name that made her entire body freeze—"_and Lucy Sullivan, of Manhattan_."

* * *

A/N: WHAT! Did that just happen?! Yup 0:)


	16. Wanted

She stared at the text. Clearly, it was a misprint. Had she read that right? "_Lucy Sullivan, of Manhattan_." It was no misprint – that was most definitely her name there in the newspaper, her name identified as one of the two suspects. She was wanted, a criminal.

Her mouth dropped and she looked around dizzily. More and more people were buying newspapers, more eyes scanning the front page headline that had her name tagged to a malicious crime she had not at all committed. She was shaking uncontrollably, so much so that the paper shook noisily. Behind her the newsie was selling out papers fast – it was a juicy story for obvious reasons.

Her body flew to protect herself: she forcefully slowed her breathing to slow her rapid heart rate and with her sweating hands she folded up the paper in as casual a way as possible. She tucked it under one arm and smoothed out her clothes. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself, lest someone in her surrounding area recognize her. So she moved her hair to conceal her face, looked down and started back to her apartment.

Lucy Sullivan, of Manhattan. Lucy Sullivan, of Manhattan. The words burned into her mind and she breathed so loudly it whistled between her teeth. She could tell herself to calm down all she wanted but still, hot tears were welling in her eyes and she nearly tripped several times as she stumbled back to her apartment. She ran to the building door and once inside, slammed it shut. She bounded up the steps and crashed through the doorway. Spot – who was sitting on her bed with one hand clutching David's letter and the other clutching her response – stood up at once.

"What happened?"

Her body gave up trying to maintain – it was pure chaos now. "We need to leave!"

"What?" He put the letters down.

"The kid talked – and he named you – and he named _me_!"

Spot's jaw dropped and for a second he didn't move a muscle. "What d'you mean—"

"I mean we need to leave right now because the paper just came out and there are plenty of people who'd kill to put you in jail, Spot, and let's not forget about the fact that _I'm_ now wanted for not doing anything at all!"

"Gimme the paper." He stomped towards her and grabbed it. He paced around as he read the article quickly to himself. "…played a hand in the near-death of Brooklyn youth, Michael Banks: Spot Conlon, of Brooklyn – fuck! – and Lucy Sullivan, of Manhattan." He looked up, the color gone from his face. "Shit, Lucy!"

She threw her arms up. "What the hell're we gonna do?"

He started taking aimless steps around the apartment in frenzy. "How did this – How did they – Who told 'em it was you?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know…" With her hands on her head she walked around, thinking frantically. She stopped, a burst of clarity. "When I met him I introduced myself!"

"So?"

"I don't know! Maybe the police got it outta him somehow."

"Christ, if he wasn't dead already…"

"Spot, stop! Don't talk like that!"

He groaned. "This is probably the worst thing that could've happened."

They stared silently at one another, lost for any words or explanation. Lucy was tense, and though she was standing still her muscles were quaking and her nerves had never been more sensitive.

Then the door resounded – angry, fast pounding. Lucy gasped and shoved Spot in front of her for protection. He grabbed her arm and bent down to the floor where he had dropped his gun very quietly.

"Who is it?" called Spot.

"Blink. Open up, I gotta talk to Lucy!"

Lucy caught her breath. Dizzy, she sat down at the edge of the bed and was thankful it wasn't the police. Spot un-cocked the gun and brought his arm down. He opened the door and came face to face with Blink. The two exchanged glares. Lucy looked up and felt like sobbing and apologizing to and thanking Blink all at the same time.

"Blink, it's not true!" she cried.

"Obviously. _You_ couldn't beat someone to the brink 'a death." He glanced coldly at Spot. "What the hell happened? I know you was in Brooklyn last night, but my God!"

"You know? How?"

He held his breath as if it were a confession. "When Jack and I saw you last night he said you was probably goin' to Anna's. I had a funny feelin' so I went to her apartment, and lo and behold, you weren't there…She said you was probably in Brooklyn. She was gonna go but couldn't for some reason…"

She again thanked her lucky stars. "I thought you were done protectin' me, Blink?"

"Yeah, well…I'm not." He glanced angrily behind Spot and returned, shaking his hands in her face. "What happened, why're you connected to this?"

"All I did was talk to the kid – we met and talked and that was it. He went off with Ace and Dodge and we left him. Tell him, Spot, tell him what happened!"

He shifted in his stance. He and Blink shared another long, icy stare before saying, "I think he's got the gist."

"Yeah, you don't gotta speak no more," cut Blink. He returned to Lucy. "I read the article this morning when it came out and ran to Brooklyn as fast as I could to make sure you wasn't there—"

Lucy felt her heart sink with both gratitude and shame.

"—and I talked to the some 'a the boys and they said about ten of 'em was arrested and were being questioned." He whipped around to Spot. "You didn't tell 'em to blame it on her, did you?"

Lucy jumped up, angry. The possibility that she hadn't even thought of taking place suddenly seemed reasonable. She never knew him to be an honest person, and with that, suddenly everything shifted. All of that hard disguise he'd shattered only hours ago seemed fleeting.

"What?" Spot grew enraged at the accusation. "That's ridiculous! Of course not!"

"Did you tell 'em where you were going when you left this morning?" asked Blink.

"When did you leave Brooklyn?" Lucy stepped in.

Spot – literally standing in the corner – was rigid and defensive. He spoke without skipping a beat, "I didn't sell today. I stayed in the hotel all morning 'til about noon. When I got up I went back to the lodgin' house, changed clothes, and that's when I heard about Banks in the hospital. Ace and Dodge had already left – they told the boys whenever I showed up I had to go too 'cause they knew I'd probably be a suspect. So that's when I left and came here. I didn't say a goddamn word where I was goin'."

Lucy stared at him. She believed him, plummeted down the roller coaster that was her perception of him. But why, of all places, had he come to her? He had a million places in New York where he could hide, and he had chosen hers.

"Then your boys must've ratted her out, Conlon," said Blink. "How the hell else would her name appear in the paper alongside yours, huh? Why d'you keep dragging her into shit like this?"

"I didn't drag her into _anything_!"

"Didn't, my ass, Conlon!"

"Blink," Lucy grabbed his shoulder. "I told Michael my name when we met. He must've said the first names that came to his mind."

Spot walked forward to Blink and growled, "I oughta punch your lights out for even thinkin' I'd throw her under like that."

"Don't act like it's a far-fetched idea, you ain't exactly the most honest person in the world."

Moving so fast Lucy didn't see it coming, Spot punched Blink in the face.

"Spot!"

Blink stumbled but caught himself quickly. He grabbed Spot's torso and ran him backward and the two of them crashed into Lucy's dresser.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Lucy ran to them and struggled to get between them. She fought to get her arms in the middle amidst their knocking into each other and used her elbows to eventually separate them. They continued to try and go after each other until Lucy used her entire body to form a barrier.

She pointed to Spot who stood against the dresser. "You – stay put!" She pointed at Blink. "You – go stand on the other side of the room!"

With her index finger still at Blink, her direction still simmering after leaving her mouth, the door to her apartment suddenly crashed wide open and they all jumped. Lucy's hands flew palms up. Spot snapped his arm upward, extending his gun. But it wasn't the police.

Jack stood tall and firm in the doorway. The afternoon newspaper was clenched in his hand. He took an angry look at the three of them – Blink, Lucy, Spot and the gun still in his grasp. "This bettah be the best goddamn story I evah heard."

* * *

A/N: Something tells me this could get ugly ;)


	17. Be Safe

All at once, truths came out.

"I didn't do it!" Lucy said immediately. "Don't believe the newspaper."

Spot lowered his arm and rested the gun in his pocket.

Jack threw the paper angrily to the floor. He pointed to Spot and spoke to Lucy. "Why the hell're you even involved with him again?"

She could have answered a number of ways. Why was she involved with him and the crime? Wrong place, wrong time. Why was she involved with him at all? She still didn't want to admit it to herself. "Look, Jack…" She suddenly felt like crying. "I'm sorry you had to…I didn't mean for you to—"

"It's a misunderstanding," interrupted Spot. Though abrasive, his voice held well-intended defensiveness. "The kid knew Lucy's name – both our names – and we're thinkin' that's what he told the cops."

Jack's eyes shifted to Spot. He wanted desperately to believe him but, like Blink, he wasn't so sure that he could.

"Jack." Spot held up his hands. He might as well have been holding up a white flag, too. "Lucy had nothin' to do with this."

"You think I actually thought she did, jackass?"

"Alright, stop," said Lucy. She put her hand on Jack's chest and pushed him backward. She stepped between him and Spot, recalling the way they went at each other like dogs ready to shred each other to pieces the first time Jack swung open the door to find the two of them together in Medda's closet months ago. "That's enough outta both of you."

"She's right," added Blink. "First things first, we—"

"You knew, didn't you, Blink?" interrupted Jack.

Blink hesitated. "Not for long, I—"

"And you didn't tell me!"

In the absence of Blink's response the two boys were silent. Jack stared hard, hoping for an explanation, but Blink was shaking his head and looking for something to give him but was coming up short.

Lucy rubbed her finger along her hairline. Beads of sweat had formed and a lump grew in her throat. She felt her jaw start to quiver, and then she felt at her side Spot's fingers come to her free hand, clasping it in comfort. She looked up at him and he looked back at her. _What the…?_

"None 'a that matters now," concluded Blink. "Right now we gotta talk about what we're gonna do with her."

Lucy broke her fleeting reverie, letting go of Spot's hand. "Yes, _please_, let's talk about how to get outta this mess."

"Fine," said Jack. "The cops're movin' pretty fast. You gotta leave in case they somehow find out where you live."

"Okay." Lucy sucked in a breath. "What do we do?"

"Take some things with you and start goin' anywhere but south. Brooklyn's a mess right now because 'a this and there's bound to be someone there who recognizes you. The family's offering money so everyone's on the lookout."

"Well, it's not like they have our pictures or anything."

"I don't care, I'm not taking any chances."

Blink had begun walking around Lucy's room, snatching up things she could take with her: food, a blanket, extra clothes. Lucy moved towards the doorway. Blink and Jack muttered to themselves hurriedly, throwing out possibilities to each other. "She could stay with Diggins at the Bowery." "Too close, gotta go further." "What about this…" "No, how about this…" All the while she stood in a limbo between familial security and criminal danger. It was as strange a predicament she could ever imagine.

"Hey." Spot was at her side. "It's gonna be okay."

She swallowed down the lump. How could she believe him when she had to force the same, bland optimism on him earlier? Judging from this, she couldn't be certain. Coming from him, she couldn't help be feel hopeless.

"Alright, listen," said Jack, having reached a conclusion.

Lucy listened to Jack's directions. She had to trek all the way to the Bronx and somehow get to New Jersey. He had old friends there apparently; they were going to help her out. He spoke quickly and with conciseness, mapping out with his hands which way she was going to walk and where the end result was going to take her. She nodded. "Okay. I got it."

Blink and Jack stood before her. It was quiet and their staring at her made it all real enough to touch. In those moments she had to grab onto her reality and hang on tight. It was almost like Spot had said earlier: "This could be it for me." It was scary as hell. She didn't know where she would be or what she would be doing in twenty four hours. Had her life not been on the line she would have enjoyed the adrenaline rush. But as such, she felt nauseated.

"Luce," said Spot. "Time to go."

She nodded.

"Whoa, where the hell're you goin', Spot?" yelled Jack.

They both hesitated.

Jack continued. "You ain't goin' anywhere with her, you've caused enough problems as it is."

Spot sighed. "Look. I realize this ain't the best 'a situations and you'd rather see me behind bars than leave with Lucy, but if I got a chance to get outta New York, I'm sure as hell gonna take it. Nothin' worse could happen. Goin' with her could only help – nothing'll happen."

Jack was reluctant but after a few, tense moments he agreed. "Fine – but if you see a cop anywhere at all, you shove her outta the way and make sure they don't see her."

Spot never liked taking orders. "Well, no shit, Kelly, I ain't stupid."

"You wanna say that again?" Jack moved forward, prompting him to fight back.

"Stop!" Lucy, once again, stood between them. "My god! Beating each other's brains in does nobody any good…"

Spot stood tense behind Lucy's protective arm and scratched his fingers together nervously. Jack stepped backward and landed himself on the bed. Blink shook Lucy's shoulder and gave a half-smile.

"Blink and I are gonna stay heah," said Jack. "In case the cops come, thinkin' they got your address."

"Okay," nodded Lucy, taking a breath. "Well, I guess this is it then…" She felt her eyes grow misty. This was goodbye. "Maybe we should each say something—"

"No," all three boys said in unison.

"Fine, just tryin' to be sentimental…" muttered Lucy. It was more and more surreal with each passing moment. She gripped the bag of things Blink had packed for her. Spot tucked the gun in his hand deep into his pocket.

"Luce."

She turned around. Jack looked at her, a sad sort of encouragement in his small smile. She couldn't stare for too long, for she was about to cry. She was going to be separated from her brother again and, like last time, she had no clue when she was going to see him again, or if she was going to see him at all.

"Be safe," he said. "I'll try and think 'a somethin' to get you off the hook."

"We will," assured Blink.

Jack nodded. His voice was quiet as he added, "You'll be fine."

She smiled gratefully.

"Time to go," repeated Spot. He opened the door all the way and shut it closed when they were in the hallway. "Listen to me: It's—"

"'Gonna be okay,'" she interrupted. She gave his cheek a pat. "I don't believe you, but I got it."

Outside, in the hurriedness of the street they were immediately set into motion. Spot said that he was going to walk about fifteen, twenty feet behind her so they wouldn't be seen together; the streets would accommodate for their separation. She kept her head halfway down in fear of being recognized. She was by no means easy to identify by common people, and perhaps neither was Spot, but most people in their circle – newsies, gangs, street kids and the like – knew who they were, and she had the feeling this was going to work against them.

They were five blocks away from Lucy's apartment when they started down a new street block. She recognized it as being the area in which Chase – the leader of a small gang in Manhattan who had nearly brought Jack to the brink of a territory war – and his boys presided. She looked back at Spot and he was watching her intensely; his jaw was clenched and he nodded for her to continue.

As they neared the end of the block Lucy stopped. Two cops on horses were patrolling the area. They were talking to bystanders about something Lucy couldn't make out, and when she flicked her gaze to the corner of the street, she saw Chase. They made eye contact. She gulped. Chase was a street kid – as Spot said, most of them had respect enough even for their enemies not to rat each other out. But she had a feeling Chase wasn't going to abide by those rules.

Lucy spun around. Spot stopped, questioning her with his eyes. She nodded behind her at the police officers. When she turned again, Chase was smiling. He approached the two cops. Lucy stood shaking. She turned and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Spot was standing still.

"Don't move," he mouthed.

But she had to. Standing there all by herself with the rest of the street walking around her made her alone and vulnerable. She didn't give a damn about Jack wanting Spot to get her out of the way if he had to; at least with Spot next to her she stood a chance. She started towards him.

He shook his head. "No, Lucy, don't."

"Shut up," she mouthed back.

"Stop walking."

She kept going. She dropped her bag, the contents spilling. Spot could have run; he had a window to flee and save himself. Just turn around, take off, and if she caught up with him, act like he didn't know her. But he didn't. He stayed there, waiting for her, watching her. His chest rose and fell quickly and they kept their eyes locked together until she made it to him. They faced each other, safe inside the other's presence. She felt – despite the danger of their situation – as though nothing too horrible would happen when she was with him (it was the first time she could ever feel that way with him, and had she the mental capacity to realize this she would have been knocked over to the ground. Spot did not move to protect himself; with this, she felt secure and under his protection; with this, even though she wasn't aware of it, she felt heartache and happiness at the same time.)

"Is it over?" she asked him, referring to the exchange between Chase and the police.

He looked at her and not at the situation. "No."

Suddenly the sound of a whistle pinged in the air. Lucy jumped and Spot – ignoring Jack's request – grabbed her arm. Taking off down the street, he dragged her with him and she ran quickly to keep up. The whistles kept blowing and the neighing of horses resounded. The galloping of their hooves hit the dirt street and the two officers were chasing them, slicing through the crowds of people and parting them down the middle.

Spot shoved people out of the way as they ran. They were moving so fast that she couldn't see straight. He turned sharply and she whipped around, ricocheting off bystanders. The whistles were getting louder and louder as the horses caught up with them effortlessly. Spot's quick turn had taken them down an alley and he was already halfway through it when he saw the high, wooden fence at the end that was too high to jump.

"Shit!"

Lucy crashed into him and stomped her foot down angrily when she saw it too. She doubled over her legs, out of breath. Spot searched around the space for something to jump up from but there was nothing. He let out a round of loud curses.

"Now what?" Lucy asked.

Spot quickly put one palm over the other and rested them at his stomach. "Put your foot in my hands. Grab onto the top and I'll hoist you over it."

"Are you insane?"

"Just do it!"

"No, you won't get be able to get over!"

"I don't care, just do it!"

"I'm not leaving without you!"

Repetitive shrill noises interrupted, the police whistles were at their loudest, and at the entrance of the alley stopped two horses carrying two police officers, barricading them in.

_This is it_, thought Lucy. She trembled, trembled, trembled. _This is it._

Spot moved her behind him. He held onto her waist tightly. She grabbed the back of his shirt with her fingers and watched from over his shoulder. One of the cops jumped down from his horse. He stared down at them as if he wanted to beat each of them to a pulp. As he walked forward, and Spot and Lucy stood practically tripping over themselves, he took out a baton from his waistband.

"Spot Conlon?" the officer called. "Lucy Sullivan?"

"Don't say anything," muttered Spot. "Don't say who you are."

She bit her lip.

"You're both under arrest!"

Spot's hand suddenly moved to his pocket. Lucy looked down and he was grabbing the handle of the gun. She gave him a warning pinch.

"Don't move a muscle!" ordered the officer as he approached them, closer and closer.

"Don't!" whispered Lucy.

"I'll take him out and we'll run," said Spot through gritted teeth.

"No, we're trapped in!"

"I'll take the other one out, it's got six bullets."

"Don't you dare!" She quickly secured her hand over his wrist.

"I said don't move!" The officer pointed his baton towards them. The other officer at the entrance changed in an instant – in a matter of seconds he raised his arms to his shoulders and was holding a long rifle, his face bent downward to aim.

"Get off me," growled Spot.

"No."

"Lucy, get off."

She tightened her grip.

"I'm doing it – two hits, they're down."

The officer stopped, twenty feet away from them, waiting to see what their next move would be. The second officer was still. He was holding steady on his rifle.

"Please, Spot!"

Her hand was still on his wrist, grabbing tightly, and in a flash she felt his muscles jump and flex. He was going to shoot the cops, she was sure of it. At the same time he pulled out the gun from his pocket, she moved her whole self from behind him, intending to hit the gun out of his hand as hard as she could.

But he was too quick, and she couldn't keep up.

Just as she went to knock the pistol from his grasp – the shining, metal weapon no longer hidden – the second police officer fired his rifle down the alley. The sound cracked through the street and sliced the air.

Spot dropped his gun and fell to the ground on his knees. He panted, taking in air as best as he could. He'd squeezed his eyes shut, affording him a moment of weightless freedom. He opened them again to reality. His eyes watered and his lungs were on fire. He felt his face, his chest and his arms. No wound. He had blood on his shoulder, though – warm, dark, crimson stains. Fresh blood, soaking into his shirt and sticking to his untouched skin. He turned to his side: Lucy was on her back on the ground next to him, motionless. The blood on his shoulder was hers.

* * *

A/N: Oh me, oh my! I know what you're thinking... Actually I don't, so feel free to let me know :) haha


	18. All I Feel

A/N: Please don't hate me. I wanted this to be just right.

* * *

_Spot Conlon: Inside_

It ain't like I nevah killed anyone before. I have. One, when I was nine – the first time I shot a gun. Another one, when I was fourteen – self-defense. Two more, when I was sixteen – street war. I know what all 'a them look like, dead and alive. It ain't pleasant – but it's Brooklyn.

The thing about those was that they'se expected. All those guys, they had it comin'.

But we all got it comin', don't we? You can think of it in two ways: one is that we're street rats and no one expects to live even close to the age 'a thirty. You do, you're a god. The other way's this: we all die. At some point or another, we all bite the dust.

The first dead person I evah saw was my mother. No, nevah saw my pops. I got no memory of him. My mother was a prostitute (that's how they met, my folks.) She was sixteen when I was born. I was six when she died. Now, I can't be a hundred-percent sure but I got a few memories in my head where I was a kinda quiet kid up till then. (If you can believe that.) Shit got rough when I became an orphan. But before that, it was just me and her. I nevah left the apartment – only once or twice a week. In my head she was always smilin'. I don't remembah her hittin' me or yellin' at me a whole lot. She seemed happy. There's only so much a boy can say about his mother before he turns into a total fairy – so you get the gist.

I had to run down to the street for some food one day. She wasn't feelin' too good. I was dumbfounded 'cause usually I always stayed inside, so I took a long time. I took a couple more pieces of food than I was supposed to. I stopped to play some cards with a couple 'a the kids down the street. When I came back to the apartment she was on the floor and when I touched her she didn't wake up.

Me, I didn't know what the hell was goin' on. She was always smilin' and such and I didn't have too many problems in my young life, so to me, death wasn't something I knew a whole lot about. I sat at the table for about an hour when she was on the floor. She wasn't movin' or nothin', which I thought was strange. I just stared at her, wonderin' when she'd be awake. I'd walk over, nudge her a couple 'a times, thinkin' maybe she was just sleeping real deep and dreaming (when she wasn't workin' she was asleep for a long time.) The neighbor across the hall from us knocked on the door and when I let her in she saw my mother and screamed. I think that's when I knew she wasn't gonna wake up.

That was the first dead person I evah saw. I saw the bodies of every one 'a the guys I killed years later. So that makes five corpses, five people who I evah had somethin' to do with their deaths. Now, my mother, she was sick, I didn't kill her. But I think I coulda done somethin' for her when I saw her on the floor. But I didn't know a goddamn thing about taking care of someone – I learned how to take care of myself the hard way, on the streets.

Michael Banks – he would've been the fifth person I killed with my own hands. My hands and my cane. When I first woke up the morning after that happened – I woke up four different times – the first thing I felt was my hands. The first time was when I woke up an hour after I came back to the hotel – my hand was around Lucy.

The second time one was hangin' off the edge of the bed. She was gone by then.

The third time they was underneath the pillow.

The fourth time they was just at my side.

It's weird how I tracked the whereabouts of my hands that morning. I was aware 'a them all day. I scrubbed 'em clean after I was finished with Banks. There was blood all over 'em. I washed 'em again when I left the hotel at noon. They were washed a final time when I was at her apartment.

I think I was aware 'a them because they'd done some fucked up shit that night. My hands held my cane, punched with a fist, carried Banks, grabbed him by the collar, and they did nothin' when I left him there. (Should I have left him? Poor kid, thinkin' back on it – he probably nevah left his house neither. Like me.) My hands coulda finished him off to end his pain (that's what I woulda wanted). They had all this power.

My hands shook at her apartment the next day. My hands nevah shake. They were cleansed, they soaked in a bathtub. My hands were held by her. They held hers when I thought she needed it.

My hand held the gun in the alley at the cops when hers tried to stop it. I should've listened to her. I tried to help when she was shot. I didn't wanna see another dead body. I didn't want her to be the sixth person that I had somethin' to do with their death. (Ya know how they say right before you die you see the life you woulda had if you lived? I wanna know what she saw. I wanna know who was there. I wanna know if I woulda been in it.)

I know a lot about death now. More than I did when I was six. You can die by someone's hand or you can be saved by it. I know that now – I wish I did when I was six. I woulda tried to help my mother. Maybe I wouldn't've killed those guys I killed and maybe I wouldn't've almost killed Michael Banks.

I think I was getting the gist of all that when Lucy was shot. When she hit the ground, I slammed my hand over the wound to stop the blood from rushing out. I tried to help but my hands were powerless at that.

I was so close.

I don't know how it ended. The last thing I saw of her was of her eyes closed and way too much blood, both on her and on me. I was shoved into the wall and put in cuffs and dragged away.

I tried to help by getting her away in the first place but I really fucked up – I fucked up a lotta things with her. But I don't know that I did a damn bit of good.

I should've done more. That's all I know. That's all I feel: I should've done more.

* * *

I hope that was worth the wait! I wanted here to illustrate the exchange of power within Lucy and Spot's relationship, how this one event turned everything upside down on them (I'm back in school reading about super abstract concepts) Let me know what you think.


	19. Pain

A/N: In response to some of the reviews, of course that wasn't the end :)

* * *

When the body reaches a certain level of pain, you react in one of two ways: fight or flight.

Save yourself, save yourself, save yourself. This is the message your brain pumps out when it chooses to fight. It works so hard not to cast you adrift, not to let go, not to lose. It's the adrenaline; it stops the body from giving up; it saves your life.

But when it chooses flight, when your body decides it's had enough, it's going to throw in the towel, it's finished. Done. Your body succumbs, your blood stops flowing, your heart stops beating. You're free from pain. You drift.

Lucy had always understood this response. She understood pain. She thrived on adrenaline. That rush, it made her come alive. So she sure as hell was going to go down without a fight.

In waves of derealization, between time lapses, with blurry vision, she could tell she was alive. When she looked up it was hazy gray. She closed her eyes. When she looked up again there was someone hovering over her, someone she didn't recognize. They forced open her eyes and shined light into them. She felt the pain of the glare and gasped.

She bolted upright and choked for air and the man hovering over her pushed her back down. She was suddenly enveloped in an excruciating pain that was the most intense she had ever felt. Her right shoulder was screaming with heat. Her body began to shake the longer she was conscious and aware and aching.

"Calm down!" said the man. "I know it hurts but we need you to calm down!"

She couldn't speak even if she wanted to. The burning sensation that was taking over her body had numbed her mind. For however long the pain lasted, she wasn't herself. Her mind was in pieces, scattered in a frantic search to get a grip on the reality of what had just happened.

There was busied movement, chaotic movement going on around her, and constant _poking_ and _needling_ at the gunshot wound. She screamed, inside and out. They kept touching the wound and dabbing away her blood and fishing around inside her body, deeper and deeper. Nothing was sacred. She was oozing with vulnerability. She couldn't hide from this or think herself away even if she wanted to.

There were voices echoing around her that she could hear, touchstones.

"Patient's name?"

"Lucy Sullivan."

"About how old does she look?"

"I'd say sixteen, maybe seventeen."

"Height?"

"Approximately fight feet, two inches."

"Weight?"

"Between one-ten and one-twenty."

"She's a criminal, no?"

"The police were chasing her."

"I see."

"How's the wound looking?"

She screamed again and squeezed her eyes shut. They were digging into her with their instruments and knives and fingers, so unapologetic. Why didn't they let up? Why were they making it worse? She lurched and tried to curl up in safety but they held her body upward, wide and stretched out. They strapped her legs to either side of the bed and did the same with her arms. She was trapped entirely and they were still scraping away at the inside of her. Then two hands touched down to her head and her hair. She opened her eyes and saw a woman, middle-aged and teary, trying to coax her out of it.

"Are we almost done?" she asked.

"Give me one more minute."

She felt a long, rounded instrument press into her shoulder…two pressing fingers…another a fast prick…and then…

"Got it."

The bullet dropped loudly into a pan. Her shoulder felt cool in its absence. But the pain, oh the pain. It didn't get worse but it didn't subside. Her body stopped shaking but it could only concentrate now on the throbbing pulse of her exposed muscles and bones and tendons.

"Morphine. Get the kit. We'll close it on up."

"Yes, doctor."

The woman's gentle hands left her and she floated away for a brief moment. The man to her right stood up and leaned over her body to speak to her. He held either side of her face and his fingers were red with her own blood.

"Lucy, can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me."

She nodded.

"We're taking care of you, alright?"

The woman handed a syringe and a glass bottle of liquid over her body.

"You'll feel another twinge of pain but it'll go away. You might be knocked out for a little while, okay? Nod if you can hear me."

She nodded.

"You're not going anywhere."

The woman returned her hands to Lucy's head and she felt the tiny pinch of pain, and as if it were the final straw, she felt a cool sedation enter the pulsating wound and it spread through her blood to her arm and her neck and her legs and her chest…And she was finally calm once more.

* * *

Time skipped intervals. It cheated reality. It throttled her deep into her own subconscious and when she was ready to return again, when it was time for her to come back, it did so gently.

"Miss Sullivan?"

Lucy felt warmth as more sounds settled in.

"Miss Sullivan?"

Echoing into clarity, she opened her eyes. She stared upwards at a light and a profoundly white ceiling. She felt more warmth on her arm and then – Ouch! – immense pain in her right shoulder.

"Can you hear me?"

Her eyes traveled slowly. A white outfitted woman was at her bedside. She was middle-aged, with soft eyes and light hair, and Lucy recognized her face at once as the one who stood hopeful and sympathetic during the worst of her care. Her hand was on her left arm – that was the warm feeling she felt. But then she felt something else on her left arm; it was cool and smooth. She tried lifting her hand but she couldn't do it. She looked down: her wrist was handcuffed to the sidebar of the bed.

"The morphine's staring to wear off," said the nurse, and suddenly her voice wasn't so gentle and angelic. "You'll feel groggy for a while."

Groggy was correct; she still felt half-asleep, entirely too sedated. "There's been a mistake…" she started. Her voice was weak and quiet, something she did not recognize.

"No mistake," said the nurse curtly. She stood at the side of her bed and bent over slightly to speak, and her voice was very loud and direct as if she were scolding her. "You were shot in the shoulder this afternoon on Tenth St. and were brought in by the police. The doctor took the bullet out and you've been out ever since. These—" she gave the handcuffs a rough shake, "—are to keep you from leaving until we can release you into police custody."

Lucy's heart was pounding. Her mouth had dropped open as the nurse spoke coldly to her. There was no sympathy left whatsoever in her eyes. The nurse picked up a clipboard next to her bed and began scribbling away furiously; Lucy could hear her dot the _i_'s with vigor. When she looked around she felt claustrophobic: her bed was surrounded by only a foot of space on either side and was sectioned off by cream-colored curtains that swung back and forth whenever someone walked by. There was a light hanging over her bed and when she twisted her wrist around the glare caught on the shiny metal of the cuffs. Her bottom lip began to tremble. At the foot of the bed the curtain opened and a young girl her age stood in a student nurse's uniform. She gave Lucy a sympathetic smile but promptly righted herself when the older nurse looked her way.

"Aspirin tablets are on the table." The woman put the clipboard into the girl's hands. As she breezed through the curtain she spun around and said to Lucy with profound anger, "You're one lucky child – at least your wound was quick!"

It struck Lucy almost as badly as the bullet had. She was referencing the severe beating Michael Banks had received in Brooklyn; according to her, Lucy was, without a doubt, one of two culprits. Lucy bit down on her lip but it shook anyway and soon her cheeks were drenched in tears. She made to bring her hands to her face but was unable to – her right arm was in excruciating pain and the other was attached to the bed. The constraints coupled with her drowsiness made her weeping even worse.

"Here…" The young nurse fished out a hanky and dabbed at Lucy's cheeks. "I'm Nurse Turner. I'll be helping to take care of you, I guess. As long as we have you."

"You know," sniffled Lucy, "I didn't do it…It's all a huge mistake!"

Nurse Turner scanned over Lucy's petite body frame and slight muscles and also took a look at her spotless, non-bloodied knuckles. "I believe you."

Lucy whimpered. "Do you?"

Nurse Turner nodded. "I lived on the streets for some time, too."

Lucy sobbed hard. She hadn't cried this badly since she was a child. She felt embarrassed that it was in front of a complete stranger, yet the circumstances of her situation (the handcuffs, the injury, the hospital bed) did not let her hide anything.

"I know Spot," said Nurse Turner suddenly.

Lucy stopped moving.

Shaking her head, Nurse Turner continued. "I can't believe he dragged you into this. That boy is awful. I lived in Brooklyn when I was on the streets and we're about the same age. I've only met him a few times but I've heard so many things about him that I…" she paused to contemplate. "I'm just sorry you got involved with whatever shit he pulls. He's a monster."

With her jaw dropped, Lucy ran through the possible directions in which she could steer this conversation. She sniffled once more and took a deep breath. "I can't say I don't—"

"You don't deserve it," she interrupted. "Don't say that."

"Look, if you knew me and my history…I'm not sayin' I should've been hurt this bad and I'm sure as hell innocent and all…It's not his…" So many things were zipping through her mind that she could hardly think a clear thought. She imagined what Michael Banks looked like now; she thought of the way Spot treated her that night, and nearly every night preceding it; she remembered Spot as weak and vulnerable as she had seen anyone thereafter. She felt her eyes mist again.

"You should try and sleep some more," said Nurse Turner. "They're going to discharge you as soon as they can since really you should be in police custody right now."

Lucy's head fell to her pillow with a thud. Her teeth chattered from her quivering lip.

"I'm sorry," added the nurse empathetically. "I didn't mean to be so blunt. I'm just used to it and all…"

"Tell me something," said Lucy. "How'd you end up here if you lived on the streets?"

Nurse Turner sighed and contained a small smile. In a quiet voice she said, "I met a boy. A good boy. His family had money. Not a lot, but enough."

Lucy nodded and lay her head back down. Immediately David popped into her head.

"I'll check on you in a few hours." Nurse Turner turned and breezed through the curtains into the aisle of the hospital.

The large, wide room was full of emergent patients, and the sounds of pain and misery echoed from the high ceilings and back into the small space that Lucy inhabited. She could hear Nurse Turner a few beds over from hers, speaking with the head nurse and the doctor. She could hear the person in the bed to her left writhing in quiet agony and her imagination, in its sensitive and dreary state, haunted her. She shuddered to think what injuries brought them here.

Then the looming thought of what would happen when she actually started to recover weighed heavy on her. She was to stay until her wound was healed enough so that she could be carted off to jail. The company there, she knew, wasn't going to be as enjoyable as the hospital. She was still a wanted criminal; her reputation, however twisted and worthless, was tarnished irrevocably. She – Jack Kelly's little sister – had so much more to add to her persona. First it was her illicit relationship with Spot, and now, it was a crime she was suspected of committing because of him. How many more hits was she willing to take? This last one nearly finished her. If ever there were a more clear-cut, God-sent reason that she should stay away from him, this was it.

And yet despite this – all of this – she felt her heart pull and tug every time she carried the thought of Spot across her mind. It wasn't a nervous excitement like the way the two of them would sneak around together, but a deep, troubling anxiety. Her last trace of memory had him pulling a gun from his pocket aimed towards the police. Had they shot him as well? Was he still alive? And what about Banks, was he still alive as well? And if he was, would he ever correct the mistake he so erroneously made by pointing the finger at Lucy as well as Spot?

Lucy gave in and let her tears roll hard and free. Little wet tracks lined the creases of her eyes, down her cheek bones and into her hair. The sound of her soft sobs didn't embarrass her anymore, knowing pain engulfed the entire room. She acknowledged the feeling – this very truthful, deep-seeded ache – and eventually, she succumbed to it.


End file.
